Post-PP One Shot(s)
by writergirl128
Summary: Little bit of humor, little bit of angst. Mostly just small character interactions I would've liked to see, post-revelation. Some aren't even real one-shots, some might be just headcanons \ (ツ) /
1. Risky Business

"Fenturd," Dash hissed from behind him, as the classroom exploded into chaos. Desks were being flipped, arranged into a small barricade in the corner that the students, along with Mr. Lancer, were currently scurrying to hide behind. There was a crash from the hallway, then a crack that sounded suspiciously like a gunshot, and the hoard of students herded tighter together behind the desks. Danny felt a hand grip the back of his neck. "Fenton, do something."

"I can't," Danny snapped in return, pushing Dash away as students' eyes lingered on him. He tightened his jaw, peering between the desks, hoping to get a glimpse of the hallway through the door to no avail. "You know I can't."

"I think this qualifies as an emergency, Fentonio," Dash sneered back, before shooting a desperate sort of glare towards the teacher. "Right, Mr. Lancer? You won't expel him for saving our butts, will you?"

Lancer blinked at the pair, wide eyes betraying the panic he was trying to hide. "Well, no, I suppose… though our agreement specifically states exceptions due to ghostly emergencies…"

"It's not Lancer that I'm worried about," Danny bit back, irritated at the fact that Dash's fist was still tight on the back of his neck. "It's the Morons in White. They've rigged this place up with spectral energy detectors—and I'm not allowed to do anything inside school grounds. The second I do, they'll be alerted and come to haul me off to god-knows-where for violating our contract."

"Well they'll—they'll understand, right?" Dash whispered in a panic. "I mean, you're doing it to help people, not just for the hell of it…"

"I've always done it just to help people, Dash," Danny pointed out bitterly, shaking his head. "Never made a difference to them before."

Dash's grip on his neck tightened as he spun Danny to look at him square in the eye. "Oh, I see—so you're going to let this psychopath rampage through the school hurting people because you want to save your own skin. Very heroic of you, _Phantom_."

"Mr. Baxter!" Lancer hissed, angrily, but keeping his voice down. He opened his mouth as if to chastise Dash further, but stopped when Danny let out an irritated groan.

"You have a point, but I'm not happy about it," Danny ground out, and when twin silver rings appeared around his waist, Dash immediately let him go, scurrying backwards on the floor. "Just don't come crying to me when this town gets overrun by ghosts while I'm off being experimented on in some government lab."

"Mr. Fenton!"

Danny shrugged half-apologetically, casting a look over his shoulder as he shot up into the air. "Hey, I'm just being realistic. Patience and understanding don't exactly fit into the outlines of the Guys in White's handbook. They're more the 'shoot first, ask never' type."

Mr. Lancer pressed a hand to his forehead, as if he had a migraine. "Mr. Fenton, I don't suppose this is the time... Perhaps you should..." He turned his gaze towards the doorway, nodding slightly.

Danny raised his eyebrows. "Promise you won't expel me?"

Lancer let out a sigh, shaking his head. "No, I will not expel you Mr. Fenton. You have my word."

Danny grinned. "Cool." And he turned to go, when another voice stopped him.

"Hey, Fenturd," Dash called. "Stop that creep or I'm gonna kick your ass."

Danny smirked at him, quirking an eyebrow at his former bully. "Can't kick what you can't catch, Baxter," he countered, before grinning and taking off down the hallway, zooming through the air.


	2. Character Development

A headcanon I submitted to the dphcs a few weeks back..

* * *

As Danny got older, his ghost half grew stronger. By the time senior year rolled around, his hair, the shorter bit on the back of his head, began to fade to white, little by little so that it wasn't as apparent to the people he saw daily. When he transformed, his hair took on a more shapeless form, flickering more like flames of ice than like the snow white strands they had been. His teeth started doing the _thing_ when he transformed, two of the top ones extending just a little farther than the others, angling off into the sharp points of small fangs.

Tucker teased him about it at first – said Danny was going through ghost puberty, that the changes made him look badass and strong. On a particularly bad day, following a spirit-crushing fight with Spectra, Danny accidentally let it slip through his haze of exhaustion and pain and self-disgust how much he hated seeing himself now, because he looked so much like _him._

At Danny's forlorn, self-loathing mention of his future evil self, Tucker stopped teasing him about it.


	3. Obsession

"I think it might be my obsession," Danny admitted, resting his chin on his bent knees as he floated. His eyes scanned the scene before him, the entire city laid out in front of his eyes like a painting in a museum. He grabbed his ankles as the huntress pulled to a stop beside him. "Amity Park, I mean. Helping people. I dunno. For so long I convinced myself that I was different, that I didn't _have_ an obsession, but… I think I was wrong. And I think this is it."

Next to him, dropping soundlessly down to sit on her hoverboard, Valerie watched him carefully. She let the silence press on for a moment before letting herself speak up. "Is that why you never ended up leaving for college? Going to Amity Community College even though we both know you can do better than that?"

The corner of his mouth twitched in an almost-grimace, his fingers tightening around his ankles. "Can I, though?" he muttered, shaking his head but keeping his eyes on the city in front of him.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He rolled his eyes. "Come on, Val – it's not like I'd do well at any other school I applied to. At least at ACC _everyone_ is almost failing out, not just me."

Valerie crossed her arms over her chest, her eyebrows raising. "Danny, you were accepted to every school you applied to. Obviously they thought you could handle it – you wouldn't have gotten so many acceptance letters if they didn't."

Now he drew his gaze away from the city, raising an eyebrow at the huntress instead, his toxic-green gaze finding her brown one steadily. "You and I both know based on grades, transcripts, supplement essays, and academic and disciplinary records that no college in their right mind would accept Danny Fenton as an undergrad."

The corners of her lips tightened slightly in a frown, searching his gaze for a glimmer of frustration or anger. She found none – only some semblance of an old disappointment. "But they did."

"But they _shouldn't have,_ Valerie." He shook his head again, returning his gaze to the horizon. "Ninety percent of the schools I applied for were reach schools – and not reach schools like 'I'm gonna take a chance and hope I get in', reach schools—like 'I fall way below their requirements in almost every area but I'm gonna waste my money applying anyways' reach schools." He let out a small chuckle then. "Mostly I just did it to see what would happen. It's kind of disgusting how much people are willing to let me get away with because they think it'll give them some sort of advantage."

"Special treatment from the Ghost Boy, huh?" She wiggled her eyebrows.

Danny rolled his eyes. "I thought people would've moved on by now – but no, I was wrong."

"What else is new?"

The corner of his mouth quirked up then in amusement, and waved in the air in dismissal. "Eh – it's okay. I think I'm okay finishing up my associates at ACC. I'll get some gen eds out of the way so maybe in a year or two I can take some classes at APU or something and scrounge up enough credits for a bachelor's degree."

Valerie nodded, dragging her gaze away from his floating, glowing form to regard the city in the distance. "So you plan on staying close, then."

He chuckled again, shaking his head slightly. "I nearly lost my mind when Dad and I took that week-long cross country road trip after graduation. I couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, kept picturing ghosts burning Amity Park to the ground, kept accidentally freezing things… I can't imagine being gone for months at a time. I'd go crazy."

"Hence the whole obsession thing."

He nodded. "Hence the whole obsession thing." He paused for a moment before shifting his position, sitting with his legs crossed but still floating in midair. "Could be worse," he continued, and shrugged light-heartedly. "I could be obsessed with boxes or deli meats."

That earned him a chuckle from Valerie in agreement. "You're right—that would be worse."

He smiled lightly, bumping her in the arm with his elbow. "Plus, staying close means I get to see you all the time."

Valerie scrunched her nose, in mock-disgust. "Save it for Sam, Ghost Kid."

Danny raised an eyebrow at her. "You do realize I'm not really a _kid_ anymore, right? We're nearly twenty, Val."

But Valerie just shrugged, a smile touching her lips easily. "Fourteen or twenty, I could still kick your butt all the way to Candyland, and we both know it."

Danny grinned, returning his gaze to the skyline. "Yeah. You're probably right."

"I always am."


	4. Outside of Time Pt I

They were in the middle of their English final, senior year, when it happened. It was their last day of class, their last hour and a half of high school ever. The classroom was dead silent save for the sound of pencils tracing out words on paper, the students so ready to just _finish_ this final and be _done_ with high school that not even the A-listers wasted any time in buckling down to work.

One trio in particular was working furiously to finish, their focus and concentration almost palpable as they wrote. Tucker Foley, the genius techno-geek with an unhealthy addiction to technology and meat, was biting his lip in concentration as he worked. The pencil in his hand moved only short distances, imprinting his infamous chicken scratch on the page for Lancer to have to decode later. Samantha Manson looked calmer. She paused every few seconds to reread what she'd written, before either nodding slightly to herself and continuing on or grimacing and flipping her pencil over to erase the apparently sub-par words. Daniel Fenton, so normally one to appear on the brink of falling asleep, so often sporting dark rings around his eyes from lack of sleep and heavy eyelids, looked positively alight with confidence. Eyes wide open and focused in on the work in front of him, his pencil moved carefully across the page, slowly but with a sense of urgency he wrote – he knew this final was timed, but still put obvious care and effort into each word he chose to mark down on the page. He paused, eyes flickering back and forth as he read, then glanced at the top of his page. He allowed himself a satisfied smile before he turned to start a new page.

It was an essay about change, of all things – personal change, academic change, occupational change. Really, it gave the students an opportunity to choose what to write about. They spent four years there learning how to write this way or that, now it was their chance to build their own prompt. A centralized idea was given, sure – but they had to take it from there. There were no documents to read in preparation, there's no synthesizing information, no data or statistics. It was just them, their words and their experiences. Their ideas, raw.

About twenty minutes of class had passed when a low rumble resonated to the room from somewhere outside the building. Some, so used to the gongs-on of Amity Park simply flicked their gaze to the window momentarily before returning to their work.

"It's just the construction workers across the street," the pinched, female teacher proctoring the exam with Mr. Lancer said coolly, shooting glares at those whose gazes lingered anywhere but their papers. Eyes returned to the work, except for one pair, blue eyes, which remained raised and alert.

"Mr. Fenton," Lancer cut in, before the harsher teacher could call him out, "Is there something wrong?"

Curious, almost eager eyes flicked up from their papers to regard Danny wearily. Staying silent and listening, eyes still alert as he watched the window, Danny slowly shook his head. Disappointed eyes returned to their essays, the small scratching of pencils against paper resuming.

Lancer gave him a small nod. "Then you'd better get back to work, don't you think?"

Then the boy's gaze found his teacher's, holding it for just a moment before nodding slightly and dropping his head back to his essay. Lancer didn't miss, however, the way the pupil's free hand stayed tight and tense under his desk as he began working again, the tension in his body as he seemed to force his hand to write words it didn't seem he cared too much about, anymore. Lancer also didn't miss the quick glances he exchanged with his two best friends, who also seemed unnaturally tense compared to before.

But a few minutes passed, and then a few more, and as they got back into the rhythm of writing they had at first, everyone seemed to forget about the non-disturbance. That was of course, until about twenty-five minutes later, when the sound of a pencil clattering to the floor startled the class into looking up.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me."

The words were muttered under his breath, but as the room had been so silent, eyes immediately flew to Danny, his frustration clearly audible to everyone. His eyes closed for a second as he almost visibly deflated in defeat, before he raised his hand half-heartedly. "Uh, Mr. Lancer, can I, er—may I be excused?"

"You may _not_ ," the proctoring teacher cut in haughtily. Confused and surprised students turned their gaze to her, not expecting the answer. In the back of the room, Dash Baxter looked downright offended at the words. The teacher, someone Danny himself had never met before, didn't seem to care. "Mr. Fenton, was it?" she continued, zeroing in on Danny and approaching his desk. He nodded, wide eyes slightly taken aback, tendrils of panic creeping into them. "Mr. Fenton. You do understand that this final is worth thirty percent of your final grade, do you not?"

A ripple of clashes sounded from outside, in a series – like a jackhammer down a cymbal line. Danny's hands tightened around the edges of his desk. "Yeah, yes, I do, but I – "

"But nothing, Mr. Fenton!" Another rumbling sound, similar to before, but closer now. This time, the view from the window was stormy, trees and bushes waving violently as if hit by a sudden wall of wind. It howled through the window, and around the room, students hastened to hold their papers in place. The teacher, as if oblivious to the darkening sky and brewing storm, pressed on. "Now would you mind _not_ disturbing your classmates and letting them get back to work? You may not care about your grade or your future, but that doesn't mean the rest of the class shares your priorities."

Danny's eyes widened even more at the words – did she seriously not _know?_ He cast a desperate glance at his own English teacher. "Mr. Lancer?"

"Don't you try to _undermine my authority_ by asking someone else!" the short tempered teacher screeched. Green tendrils of mist snaked their way through the air outside, and another rumble through the walls of the building seemed to pierce right into the ice core deep in Danny's chest. "This is exactly the reason they asked an outside official to come proctor final exams this week – because the teachers here have been far too lenient with letting underachieving students get away with mischief!"

There was a cry of outrage from the back of the room. "Do you seriously not _know_ that he's—"

An all-too familiar chill crept through the walls around them, and Dash cut off suddenly, eyes growing wide. The proctor turned on her heel to glare more intently at Danny, as if he were the cause of it. Rising from his seat, Danny held his hands up in an attempt to calm her. "Okay, maybe they do, and I'm sorry, I'm not trying to undermine you, I just really have to—"

" _Sit down and finish your exam, please, Mr. Fenton!"_

Danny's jaw clenched tight with a _snap._ Outside, the darkened sky flickered with lightning, dark grey clouds blocking any trace of sunlight. Another chill went down his spine, a familiar yet always startling feeling, and now that people weren't absorbed in their essays, they noticed the wisp of breath that escaped his lips. The first time it had caused him to drop his pencil – this time, it caused a wave of chatter among the students, who turned their glances anxiously to the darkened world outside. Sending one last glance at Mr. Lancer, Danny had to consciously blink the eager green out of his eyes.

"Yes, you may go, Mr. Fenton."

The proctor turned on her heel. "No he may not!"

Fed up, ghost sense going off _yet again,_ Danny gestured to the window. "You have been to Amity Park before, right?" he asked. "You know, the Most Haunted City in the Country, the Ghost Capital of the World? Ring any bells? Well there's a ghost attacking right now, and judging by the fact that it was eighty degrees and _sunny_ ten minutes ago, I'm guessing he's a big one. Now may I _please be excused?"_

Taking swift strides towards the student, the proctor glared harder. "There is no such thing as _ghosts."_

Danny felt his eyes flash then in frustration. "Oh, you can't be serious."

The proctor looked at him wide-eyed, the display seeming to steal the air from her lungs. She opened her mouth but closed it soundlessly, outrage filling in her eyes. Suddenly, the power cut out in the room, and a hollow, deep echo of a laugh resounded through the walls. It cut so deep, Danny swore he was hearing it inside his own skull. It was also familiar – familiar in the worst possible way. He knew that laugh. No. _No._ It couldn't be—

The figure appeared before the class as if out of nowhere, mere mist among the shadows until it solidified into the shape, a broad-shouldered figure with hair like snow white fire and eyes as red as blood blossoms. The anger Danny had felt at his situation disappeared, an iron fist of fear and dread sitting like a boulder of ice in his stomach. It was unmistakable, that logo on his chest, that glow of intimidation he emitted simply from floating there.

"Oh, dear God," Tucker muttered from his left, and to his right, Sam was reaching for her weapons.

"What – what is that?" the proctor stammered out, staggering backwards and into a desk, trying to distance herself from the clearly malevolent being in front of her.

Finally finding his words, Danny pulled on the tickle of cold in his chest and transformed, black hair turning white, jeans and tee becoming a black and white HAZMAT suit that moved on him like a second skin. "That," he ground out as he changed, floating up to be at the same level as the amused looking ghost before him, "is a long story."

"M-M-Mr. Fenton?" the proctor stammered, as students started bolting towards the door, exam papers forgotten entirely. " _You're_ … a ghost?"

Never once letting his eyes linger from that deep red gaze, Danny held his ground, calling on sparking green energy to dance around his fingers. "And you're about three years late to the party. Just for the record, I suggest you run."

"Oh, but what would be the fun in that, boy?" the ghost drawled lazily, and before Danny could do anything, there was a duplicate of the ghost looming in front of the door, blocking the exit.

His class was trapped.

"How did you get out?" Danny demanded, trying to push the panic he felt to the back of his mind and think clearly. "How are you even here?"

Dan's upper lip curled in a snarl as he looked over his younger self in disgust. "I exist outside of time, thanks to you – when you changed the future, you messed up. Because when my world was destroyed – and I do mean _my_ world – you kept me out of the timestream. Locked up all nice in safe in one of your father's idiotic thermoses, left under the watchful eye of good old Clockwork. How is Baby New Year doing, anyhow? Have you heard from him lately?"

Danny's fists tightened even more, the ectoplasmic energy around them practically pulsing in anticipation. "What did you do to him?"

Dan floated forward, putting a hand to his chest as if wounded. "Me? I would never." He paused, before shrugging. "Alright, maybe I would. But do you want to know the best part?" The sly grin returned to his face, triumphant. Audacious. "He didn't even see it coming."

Feeling the fury flare in his eyes, Danny ground out a simple question. "What do you want?"

Dan smiled at him, then, and it took everything Danny had not to blast him in the face with everything he's got – because he _knew_ that face. That was a face he more or less saw every day in the mirror, a face tainted by evil and hatred and disgust that Danny felt dirty even associating himself with it. He wanted to knock the fangs right out of that arrogant mouth, blast away every last bit of Dan that he could even remotely resemble. They had the same nose, the same eyebrows, the same facial structure. The older Danny got, the more he looked like him. Danny wanted to destroy all of it.

How could he let this happen? How could he let Dan exist _outside of time_? Danny's prevented that future from ever happening, he knows that, Clockwork told him that, but that never got rid of the problem. Dan still exists. Dan was never destroyed.

"I want what I've always wanted – to rule," he drawled out, all arrogant and menacing, very much the worst parts of Vlad Plasmius and the worst parts of himself all rolled into one. "To win. I'm going to give you three days to get me the crown and the ring of Pariah Dark. Every day that you don't deliver past that, I'm going to take one of your friends, classmates, teachers, family. It would be nice to catch up with dear old Mom and Dad, don't you think? It's been an awful long time. Jazz too – how is college going for her, hm? I hear she turned down Yale in favor of APU, just to be closer to her little brother. How cute. How… nauseating."

Green light flashed through the darkened classroom like lightening, hitting with a _crack_ and sending Dan flying backwards and into the wall behind him. "You stay away from them, or I swear to god you will regret it. I beat you once, and I was only fourteen. I can do it again."

"Can you, though?"

Danny's jaw tightened. "You've been formless inside a metal soup container for the past three years – and all I've been doing is getting stronger. If I could beat you then, I can most definitely beat you now."

Dan laughed, and pushed off from the wall. Making a show of brushing off his pants, Dan chuckled. "Look at you, kid – getting more and more like me every day. I almost believe you. I don't, of course." He shrugged. "But—almost."

Danny grit his teeth. "I am nothing like you."

Dan raised his eyebrows at the younger ghost. "Of course you're not. You're just throwing the first punch, using violence to get what you want, tossing out threats with the intent of carrying them out. No, you're nothing like me at all." Danny didn't trust himself to respond, so didn't, clenching his teeth so much tighter he was surprised they didn't crack. Dan held up three fingers. "Three days, or else I might just have to steal that girlfriend away from you – she always has had a knack for the dark side." He raised his eyebrows. "Three days."

And then he faded into mist. A few moments later the lights flickered back on, and a few moments after that the storm outside subsided. Still, Danny remained where he was, floating above the class, eyes and hands alight with furious green energy. He wasn't sure how long he stayed there, eyes locked on the spot of the wall he had blasted Dan into. It wasn't until people below set into motion, returning shakily to their desks that someone from below spoke up – Sam.

"Danny?" she said up to him, at first a bit tentative. Then, her voice was more adamant. "Danny, we need to tell your parents. We need to tell them everything."

He never _had_ told his parents about Dan. That future him, that _evil_ him. He could barely stomach the thought. How scared they'd be, when he confessed it to them—how _disgusted,_ how appalled they'd feel. He could never build his nerve, steady his resolve enough to tell them. Now, it didn't seem like he had much of a choice.

Slowly, silently, Danny nodded, letting himself drift down to the floor and landing lightly on his feet, still hovering slightly above the floor. He forced the energy he held to dissipate, though really all he wanted to do with it was blast something to pieces – preferably Dan. Tucker, from his other side, placed a hand on his shoulder in solidarity. "We'll help," he promised, nodding assuringly. As if anything could make the block of ice in Danny's stomach lighten.

A beat of silence passed.

And another.

And another.

Finally, a voice spoke up, hoarse. Shaky. "What on _Earth_ is going on here?" Danny looked to the source, the proctor herself. Her eyes were blown wide from panic. She turned her gaze to Danny, still in ghost form, and flushed. "M-Mr. Fenton? Care to explain?"

Not feeling patient in the least bit, Danny grit his teeth once more. "Not really, no. May I be excused?"

The proctor's eyes, if possible, grew even larger. " _Not without explaining what is going on_ ," she protested, hissing the words out angrily.

Danny cast a glance over the room, gazing across the terror-filled eyes of his classmates. "It's a long story," he fell back on, bringing his gaze back to the proctor. "I need to go."

"What you need is to—to… sit down and… finish your exam."

Danny ignored her, gritting his teeth as he turned to Tucker, and then to Mr. Lancer. "We need to get a ghost alert out to the town," he told Tucker, who immediately pulled his PDA out and began typing furiously. "And to the school," Danny continued, to Lancer. "We need to get as many people as we can under ghost shields – the modified kinds that work on halfas too. Which means the hospital, town hall, the high school, Fentonworks."

Mr. Lancer, brow glistening with anxiety-induced beads of sweat, nodded carefully, pulling the cell phone out of his pocket to call down to the main office. "What threat level are we talking here, Daniel?" he asked, but the dread was evident in his voice.

He didn't miss the way the boy's hands tightened angrily, the silvery glow they emitted flaring ectoplasmic green for a moment. "On a scale of the Box Ghost to Pariah Dark? Probably the Fright Knight on steroids. I register on the power scale around a twelve – this guy's an easy fifteen or sixteen. Pariah Dark is an eighteen. Boxy's a four – would've been a two if it weren't for that time he stole Pandora's box."

Lancer nodded, returning his attention to the phone he held. "Who _was_ that, Fenton?" a nervous voice spoke up, and turning, Danny saw it was Dash, half-cowering behind an overturned desk. He shook his head a little, his blue eyes wide. "He had—he had your logo on his chest."

If Danny weren't so angry, maybe he would've considered the possibility that the others saw the similarities between them too, that it wasn't just him who could spot the resemblances. Unfortunately, his anger had blinded him from seeing how truly complicated this could get. He let his eyes close, his anger momentarily fading into exhaustion. "I know," he said slowly, and opened his eyes. "I'm going to take care of him. I haven't figured out how, yet, but I will."

"But he looked – "

"Dash," Danny cut him off, a slight bite to his voice that he hadn't meant to be there. He shook his head, and if by the way Dash's nervous yet accusatory expression melted into one of fear and maybe a little bit of pity, Danny must've looked pretty miserable. "I know. Please, just – just _don't._ I'm begging you. I'm going to take care of it."

There was a beat of silence before Dash nodded slowly, his eyebrows drawing together in what almost looked like concern for the halfa. He turned to Lancer again, not even having the energy to muster up anything more than an imploring expression. "This is important – I need to go talk to my parents."

As if oblivious to the pure _misery_ and panic radiating off of Danny's still floating form, the proctor stamped her foot like a child. "Whatever you are, you are not going anywhere until you explain-"

"A really bad ghost is going to do really bad things to really good people unless I find a way to stop him," Danny cut her off curtly, and returned his gaze to Mr. Lancer's. "I'm leaving."

"You step one foot out that door—"

"It's a good thing I'm gonna fly out through the ceiling, then."

"With your grades, if you don't finish this exam you will fail senior English – you won't be able to _graduate_ , do you understand?"

"Then I won't graduate," Danny returned without a beat, jaw clenched tight. "I don't care." He gestured to where Dan just flew off. "He has _killed people._ Do you get that? He's a _murderer_. So with all due respect, if you're making me choose between graduating high school or potentially saving people's _lives,_ there's no question about it."

"That is not your responsibility!"

Danny's eyes flared an icy blue at the words, a few shades lighter than his human eye color and glowing coldly. The temperature in the room dropped noticeably, and goosebumps rose on the students' arms. "He exists because of me," he spat out, and the floor under where he hovered glistened with frost. "He is my fault. Which means _yes,_ he _is_ my responsibility."

" _I will not stand for this kind of treatment from a student, Mr. Fenton!"_

Danny opened his mouth with a retort, but didn't get it out in time. Sam grabbed his elbow gently, and Lancer stepped forward.

"That's enough, Janice," he finally cut in. He turned to Danny, nodding again, apologetically. "You can go."

Shoulders practically deflated in relief, eyes fading back to green. " _Thank_ you."

"Perhaps you ought to take Mr. Foley and Miss Manson as well, hm?"

They were already flight-ready with their backpacks on and their Wrist Rays out. A Fenton Bazooka sat ready in Tucker's hands, while Sam gripped an ecto-gun in what looked like anticipation of a fight. But Danny shook his head adamantly, and they sent him confused glances.

"What do you mean _no_?" Sam asked, her voice containing a little bit of heat. "You can't honestly expect us to let you face him alone, do you?" She took a step closer to him, pulling on his elbow and turning him to look him square in the eyes. "He knows exactly what to do to get to you. He knows every single chink in your armour, Danny."

Danny's jaw tightened, hardening his resolve. "That's the point. He knows that the best way to get to me is through you, and Tuck, and Jazz, and my parents. He knows the only power he has over me is through you guys. You're staying under the ghost shields until I get rid of him."

Sam's eyes widened in outrage, but when she opened her mouth to shoot back a reply, Danny cut her off, already pressing forward in his plans. "I need to borrow a cell phone."

He sighed when approximately twenty-seven phones were forced in his direction.

Grabbing the nearest one, he ignored the way goosebumps formed on the hand holding it as he got closer and took it, dialing his parents' number and praying to God that for once, they'd actually hear the phone.

It took three rings for them to answer. "Fentonworks Ghost Specialists at your service! What can I do for—"

"I need you to get into the Ghost Assault Vehicle, turn on the ghost shield, and pick Jazz up from college. Like—now. I need you to go now."

There was a slight pause. "Danny?"

Danny held the phone tight, slightly annoyed. "Dad, it's really, really important, okay? No matter what, I need you and Jazz to stay under the ghost shield. And I need Mom to put the shield up at the house to get other people under it. I need her to get the word out and activate the other shields around town. We need to get as many people under ghost shields as fast as possible – the strongest kind you've got. We need to put them up and _keep them up_ for the foreseeable future. You can't take them down for anything," Over the PA System, a voice started speaking:

"This is a Code Green – Ghost Alarm, threat level ten. Please remain in your classrooms until further notice."

"Did he say threat level _ten?"_ Jack's voice came through on the phone, before across the classroom, the students were getting the warning sent out by the city to get under a ghost shield and stay there. "Danny-boy, what's going on? I didn't pick up any ghost activity on the radar…"

 _That's because the radar is calibrated to ignore my ecto-signature so I don't set it off every time I go ghost,_ he thought miserably. _It's ignoring his, too._

"Dad, go get Jazz. Put the ghost shields up and don't let it down, okay? Not for anything or anyone, not even me. _Especially_ not me."

"Son, what's – what's going on?"

"And don't trust the radar, necessarily, okay? It's a long story, and I-I promise you, I'll tell you everything, but he's not going to show up on the radar, necessarily, just like I don't show up on the radar. Okay? So you have to keep an eye out."

Over the PA system: "Ghost shield will be activated in sixty seconds – please stand by for further instruction."

"I need to go or I'll get locked in. Go get Jazz, put the shield up, don't take it down. I have my Fenton Phones, so once you get in the GAV get mom on too and call me on Channel 18. I'll explain, I'll tell you – I'll tell you everything, okay? I promise. Just – please go get Jazz. Please."

A beat of silence, and Danny cast a worried glance outside. Tuck tugged on his elbow, nodding towards the window leading outside with a sort of reluctant looking resignation in his eyes. It was clearly a _I'm mad at you for not taking us with you but if you want to go you have to go now or you'll get trapped inside the ghost shield_ tug.

"Alright, son," Jack finally answered, and he heard his mom in the background ask him, "Jack, what's going on?"

"I'll talk to you soon, alright?" More insistent nudging from Tucker.

"Danny – please, uh. Please be careful. Okay?"

"Always am, Dad. Don't worry." Even to him, the words sounded forced and thin. "It'll be fine. Piece of cake, really."

"I'll—I'll tell Mom and call you on the way to get Jazz. Channel 18?"

Danny closed his eyes, and if he were human at that moment, he was sure his heart would be hammering in his ears. "Channel 18."

And with that, they hung up.

Seconds later, Danny had disappeared through the ceiling of the classroom.

Students ran to the windows to watch, but by the time they got there, he had completely vanished from sight, leaving behind a classroom of terrified students, an abandoned essay, and his pencil, still laying on the tiled floor.


	5. Casper High Contracts

A few days after returning to school, Danny was called into the office to meet with Lancer.

The morning after Antarctica, he'd written an email to the school board, apologizing, trying to explain his miserable excuse for a record, for a transcript, with actual truths instead of flimsy, transparent excuses. Now that everything was out in the open, he could finally be honest about _why_ he'd been doing so poorly. Plead with them to cut him a little slack—give him the chance to get his grades back up. At the very least, beg them not to expel him.

He swallowed the lump in his throat as the vice principal closed the door behind him.

"Mr. Fenton," Lancer started, and the tone of his voice and the hardness in his eyes dashed all of Danny's hopes where he stood. He knew it. They weren't going to cut him any slack. Which meant he'd still have to run out on classes with teachers yelling protests after him, would get detentions for his missing homework, would fall even farther behind in his classes. There goes graduation. There goes college.

"You have done the school a great deal of service," Lancer continued, leaning back in his chair. "Not to mention the world."

There was a _but_ coming. He could feel it in his bones, deep in the twitchy coldness burrowed deep inside his very being. Danny sank down into the chair opposite Lancer's desk and dropped his head into his hands. He couldn't believe it. After all this time, after how hard he'd tried, nothing was going to change. He was never going to get into college. He could kiss his future goodbye.

"Mr. Fenton, you look distressed."

Lancer sounded almost _amused_ by this, and it grate on Danny's nerves. He lifted his head forlornly, and tapped his thumb against his thigh once, then twice. "Mr. Lancer, do you mind if I be honest, for a sec?"

Mr. Lancer's eyebrows rose to his nonexistent hairline. "It would be utterly enjoyable to have an open and honest conversation with you, Daniel. For once."

Danny winced at the jab, and a hand rose to rub at the base of his neck. "I just – I don't know. My grades are in the toilet, my attendance is so bad my teachers are usually surprised when I actually _make_ it to class – and I just—" he broke off in a huff, and shook his head. "I've tried so hard to balance everything, and I just… I _can't._ It doesn't work."

Lancer sighed. "Is that why you wrote that email to the school board?"

A soft flush found its way to Danny's skin, creeping up his neck from somewhere below the neckline of his t-shirt. He nodded softly. "I thought once people _knew_ and once the school _knew_ that things would get better, you know, I wouldn't have to make up terrible excuses and charge out of class unexpectedly and I wouldn't have to _lie_ to everyone I know anymore, but I– " again, he broke off. His hair fell into his eyes a little as he shifted in his seat, and Lancer watched the boy carefully. "Some things have gotten easier, sure, but the school's not going to cut me any slack, and classes are going to keep getting harder and there's no way I'll be able to keep up or catch up, and everyone keeps _staring_ at me like I'm some kind of alien or something and I mean okay, I kind of expected it but that doesn't mean it _feels_ good, and I just – I don't know. I really need high school to _work._ "

Danny paused in his rant, taking a breath and scrubbing at his face, as if trying to force the weariness out of his eyes. It didn't seem to do much.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm… really glad I don't need to lie to everyone and look over my shoulder every five seconds. And going into it, I knew everything couldn't just get back to normal, the way it always has been, but I… The one place I was hoping something would change for the _better_ was school. But it's not going to, and I'm going to keep doing awful in my classes, and I'm going to miss deadlines, and miss classes, and get saddled with detentions and colleges are going to look at my transcript and laugh in my face and I can kiss that career at NASA goodbye."

Mr. Lancer's head tilted to the side a little bit. "You aim to work with NASA?"

The flush continued to creep up the student's neck. "Well, I mean – ideally, yeah. I've always wanted to be an astronaut, or work with some space program. But astrophysics is a hard major to get into at college, especially if your grades and extracurricular activities from high school are trash."

Lancer's eyebrows drew together as he thought. "Correct me if I'm mistaken, but hasn't Danny Phantom been to space before?"

Danny shifted in his seat a little. "I mean, sure, but it was never for _me,_ or for the sake of science or anything. It was because of some ghost I was fighting. I never got to enjoy the experience of it—all I got to enjoy were the ectoblasts flying at my face."

"Still, Mr. Fenton – you have experience in space. Most NASA applicants can't say that."

Danny rolled his eyes. "Okay, but most applicants will have a college degree."

"And you think you won't?"

Now, Danny watched his teacher skeptically. "Mr. Lancer, at this rate, I doubt I'm even going to get a high school diploma."

Lancer frowned at him, but there was that damn _amusement_ in his eyes again that rubbed Danny the wrong way. "And what makes you say that, exactly?"

Danny scrubbed at his face, too tired to relive his failures again. "You just want to torture me, don't you?" he muttered. "Because my grades are in the toilet, I'm going to keep missing assignment deadlines, getting detentions, and I'm going to fail the vast majority of my classes. I can't be counted on to actually _be_ anywhere when I'm supposed to, and the school board's going to keep punishing me about it even though now they know what I'm doing when I'm not at school, and that I don't just skip to be a delinquent or—or for fun, for kicks. Nine times out of ten I'm getting my butt handed to me by some ectoplasmic nitwit trying to terrorize the town, but the school doesn't _care_ and nothing's going to change."

Lancer raised an eyebrow at his pupil, who was worked up and resonating a crushing defeat. It was in his voice, in his body, in his downcast eyes and the fingers that were curled tightly around the hem of his shirt. He thought he lost. He thought it was all over. "I'm just waiting for you to come to the realization that I have yet to tell you the board's decision regarding your academic career."

Danny froze, for a second, utterly still. Then his eyes narrowed a little, and he shook his head. "No, but you buttered me up to ease the blow with the whole _you've-done-a-great-service-to-the-world_ shtick. I could see in your eyes, Mr. Lancer. I know the board's decision."

A single eyebrow rose. "Mr. Fenton, I wasn't buttering you up for anything – it was a preface to me telling you it was about time we did a service to you. You looked so distraught I felt it might be more beneficial for you to open up a conversation that could potentially help ease whatever weight seemed to be crushing your chest."

Danny blinked at him, then, in utter confusion. "Mr. Lancer?"

Lancer smiled at the student. "Danny."

"Are you telling me that the school is going to give me a chance to fix my grades?"

"I am indeed. We're also making extensions available to you – upon request, of course. You are expected to do the work on time, but if for good reason you need an extension, one will be granted."

Danny continued to blink at him, as if he didn't believe what he was hearing. He deflated back into the chair he was sitting in. "Oh my god."

"As far as the work you need to make up, we've agreed as a board that as long as you get the big essays and assignments in, the ones that will have a true impact on your grades, the rest of the points will be waived as extra credit – to do at your own discretion and opportunity. Each of your teachers will have a list of which major assignments for their specific class they'd like you to complete that you've already missed, as well as how many extra credit points can be earned from their small, non-assignments—the daily writing prompts, for example, that you miss in my class seeing as you are never there." Danny gave him a sheepish smile at that, but the tone of Lancer's voice was good-natured. "We aren't giving you free points back, and it will require a lot of work to catch up to your classmates. But we're willing to give you until the end of the semester to get them done. Does that sound fair?"

Danny's smile grew a little, and he nodded slightly, his only response.

"And when it comes to your outgoing detention time, well – the faculty and I have decided you have logged more than enough community service hours to make them up." Lancer shrugged a little. "Unconventional, maybe. But definitely community service."

Danny blinked. "So I… I don't have – " he broke off, shaking his head slightly. "You're saying I don't have to make up my detentions?"

Lancer, again, quirked an eyebrow at his pupil. "I'm saying that while staying late and getting help from your teachers to make up all of the work you owe might still be a good idea, no, Mr. Fenton, you have no mandatory after school detention hours to make up."

"Mr. Lancer," he started, as a grin stretched across his face. "You have no idea how much I appreciate this."

"Now when it comes to your – your spontaneous bathroom breaks," Lancer glazed over, "we do request that you don't just up and run out of the classroom, as you're so famous for. Ghost attacks… distract, to say the least. Your teachers all know to allow you to leave if you ask to be excused, so we ask that you do raise your hand and ask like any other student would, to avoid creating any unnecessary distractions in the classroom. Is that understood?"

Smile flickering a little bit, Danny had nodded. It was good—it was better than anything he'd anticipated.

Lancer paused, his eyes growing more serious, now. When he spoke, it was very much the voice of the vice principal, rather than the understanding teacher. "Now, listen," he began, and the remainder of the smile dropped from Danny's mouth. He swallowed, suddenly nervous all over again. "As I'm sure you know, Casper High has a very strict no weapons policy—a policy that regards ectoplasm-based weapons as well. Any offensive abilities that draw on ecto-energy fall under this category, any… powers, you may possess, included."

Casper High has a no weapons policy—and Danny was basically a walking, talking, half-human weapon. He understood this… all too well. Keeping his gaze lowered slightly from his teacher's, he offered up a small nod of agreement.

Lancer heaved a sigh. "Unfortunately in your case, there's really no way to _control_ it short of expelling you entirely and keeping you off campus—which," he added hastily, noting the panic that had flared in the student's blue eyes, "we do not plan on doing any time soon. The school board might not understand why or how it is you are the way that you are, Daniel, but… we _do_ understand that there's nothing anybody can do to change it. Nor do we want, or—or expect that of you." Danny continued watching his teacher wearily, offering another small nod as his only response.

It was another moment of silence before the vice principal pressed forward. "But we are going to hold you to a certain… contract, of sorts." True to his word, Lancer turned and pulled something from the side of his desk and handed it to Danny—a piece of paper, that seemed less like a contract of sorts and more like a legitimate contract. "As long as you're within school grounds, we, as a board, are requesting that you keep all things Phantom separate. We will not tolerate use of any of these potentially harmful or dangerous abilities within the walls of Casper High. Do you understand?"

Danny flinched, lifting a hand to rub at the back of his neck nervously. The tired resignation in his eyes was louder than ever, and he shook his head almost guiltily as his eyes skimmed the paper. The words seemed to make the crease between his eyebrows deepen, the frown on his face morph more solidly into a grimace. "Mr. Lancer, I—I completely understand where you're coming from, I do. And I swear, I've always tried to keep them separate, but… it's a lot harder than it sounds. Ghosts attack the school all the time. Am I supposed to just ignore them? Because if we're being honest, I—I don't know if I can promise you that."

Lancer nodded slightly, eyes steady, a shade of authority in them Danny hadn't often seem of the vice principal. "And we understand that," he acknowledged. "Which is why we've written the contract the way it is. If you read the second to last paragraph, it states clearly that we will allow exceptions to this rule if and only if some ghost-related emergency comes up. Then, with due cause and consent from whatever faculty member is present, you will have the freedom to, well… to do whatever it is you need to do in order to rectify the situation. But like I said: only in the case of ghostly emergencies. If it's a truly critical, life-or-death situation, obviously you should do as you see fit—but unnecessary use of any powers or abilities you may possess that have the potential to cause harm or damage to anyone or anything at this school will not be tolerated."

Something was eased in Danny—not entirely, a coil of tension still prominent in his posture, in his eyes. But some of the hardness had melted out of his frown, and when he swallowed and offered Lancer a nod of understanding, there was something almost grateful about it. "Emergencies only," he agreed, and a corner of his mouth flickered. "Got it." He looked down to the contract in his hands, again, rereading the words. It was all as Lancer had said—keep Phantom separate from Casper High as much as possible. Unnecessary use of his powers would lead to serious administrative trouble, as far as expulsion. Get permission before running out of class to fight off some ghost terrorizing the gym classes. That wasn't so bad.

Realistically, it was a better deal than he'd expected. He was ready for the school board to slam a door in his face, tell him that _no,_ they _weren't_ going to cut him any slack. He was ready to argue Lancer for a chance to get his grades back up. He was ready to beg not to be expelled. Instead, they've given him more of an opportunity than he imagined, given him more leeway than he thought he deserved, and all they asked of him was to agree that he wouldn't use his abilities when they weren't necessary?

He glanced back up at Mr. Lancer, nodding slowly as he did and raising his eyebrows at his English teacher. "Got a pen?"


	6. A Mother's Work

" _Daniel James Fenton."_

Danny winced, freezing on the stairs as his fingers curled tightly around the wooden railing he held. The grip was due to more than just the dread of being caught sneaking in—it was grounding, _stabilizing._ In a world that was literally tilting around him, his grip on the railing was probably the only thing keeping him upright. In the dark, he hadn't made out his mother's shadowed silhouette sitting at the kitchen island, and had simply made a beeline to the stairs to get to his room as quickly as he was physically capable of.

As if it were some dramatized TV show, his mother flipped the kitchen lights on with a _click._

He closed his eyes against the sudden, bright light, bracing himself with a breath—a shallow breath, he'd admit, a breath that led a sharp pain to pierce his right side, but… a breath nonetheless.

He plastered a forced smile on his lips and turned to his mom, guiltily. "Uh—hi, Mom."

Maddie— _wait, were there_ two _of her?_

He blinked, refocusing. No, no—that didn't make sense. Obviously there was only one of her, Danny chided himself. He squinted against the light, and took in her stance. Arms crossed over her chest and eyes dripping with disapproval, Maddie hadn't even bothered to change out of her jumpsuit and into pajamas yet. Danny risked a glance at the microwave clock, and, yup—it was 2:32 in the morning.

"Ah, crud," he muttered, and let his eyes close for a moment.

When he peeked them open again, his mother simply arched one immaculate eyebrow at him. A challenge. "Explain."

Danny worried his lower lip under his mother's glare. "I, uh—got a little… tied up."

Maddie's other eyebrow rose to join the first, her only response.

Danny stepped down the remaining stairs, forcing himself to remain upright long enough to find his way to the kitchen island before sinking down to a stool. He prided himself on only swaying slightly as he did so. "Like… literally tied up, Mom. Skulker tied me up. Then left me in this anti-ghost cage in some warehouse basement across town. Didn't exactly have cell phone access to tell you I'd be missing curfew."

A beat later, and the anger was melting out of Maddie's eyes, replaced with concern as she approached her son. "Are you alright? Any dizziness or lightheadedness? Nausea?" she asked, lifting his chin, assessing for injuries—her professional words were used as an attempt to hide her true concern, but the waver in her normally steady eyes and the slight quiver in her voice gave her away. Her fingers traced across an already healing gash across Danny's eyebrow, rubbing away some of the dried ectoplasm that had crusted there. "Sweetheart, what happened?"

Danny winced as his mother's fingers found the point of pressure along his temples, his head pounding painfully. "It's fine," he mumbled, closing his eyes in the wince—the budding concussion was already receding, almost sooner than it had fully manifested, as far as anyone was concerned. He let out a breath as Maddie's fingers disappeared, and when he reopened his eyes, she was rummaging through the medicine cabinet.

"Mom," he insisted, shaking his head, "Mom, I'm fine—really. I don't need…"

But he trailed off when she turned back to him, placing two small, ectoplasm-green pills in his hand. "Take them," she instructed, turning to return the pill bottle to the cabinet.

Danny, rolling his eyes, complied. "I only have myself to blame, really," he admitted after swallowing them down dry, as his mother turned back to him and gestured for him to lift his arms up. He began to, flinching and freezing about halfway up when that damn _stabbing_ feeling returned to his side, forcing his breath out in a hiss. "I should've known not to trust Ember," he continued, not moving a muscle until the pain subsided. "She said she wanted help with something—I just didn't realize that _something_ was getting my pelt on Skulker's wall."

Maddie offered him a small smile, helping him lower his arms back down gently. "Are they still dating? Ember and Skulker?"

Danny mock shivered. "Yeah. Gives me the heebie-jeebies too."

Maddie chuckled a little, but her smile turned to a wince as she reached forward to prod gently at Danny's sides and was immediately met with a flinch and hiss of pain. She made a remorseful face. "Sorry, sweetie," she apologized, drawing her hands back. "Can you take your shirt off? I need to get a look at your ribs."

Danny nodded gently, but it proved to be easier said than done, seeing as he couldn't lift his right arm any higher than his shoulder without feeling like he was being impaled. Again, he let out a hiss of breath and froze, stuck with his shirt half off, his fingers curled tightly into the fabric.

"Here," Maddie offered, and gently helped remove the article the rest of the way. He winced at the extra motion, but nodded his thanks when the shirt fell to lay in his lap.

As always, the extensive _scarring_ that was painted across his skin was a sight to behold.

Pale skin, covered with puckered white scars, red, pink, green scars, even—thin and healed and gone but still very much _real._ Ecto-blasts and concrete sidewalks and brick walls and anti-ecto lasers… Evidence of years of ghost fighting, carved into his skin for the rest of his life.

If Danny noticed her reaction, the way the corners of her lips tightened slightly, the way her eyelids fluttered a little as if she didn't know how to _accept_ the truth in front of her eyes, the way her breath hitched, slightly, catching sharply on her last inhale, well… he chose not to say anything. They've had the conversations, riddled with apologies and poorly-timed jokes on his part, all three of them knowing very well that some of his scars were from his parents themselves. There was no need to bring that up again. Instead, he just offered her a small nod, an "It's okay, Mom," barely audible to his own ears.

Catching herself quickly, Maddie blinked a few times and brought her hands to Danny's ribs. The left side seemed okay, a little bruising that elicited a slight wince from the young halfa, but nothing too serious. His right side was significantly worse for wear—the bruising was much deeper, dark purples and blues, dotted with deeper veins of purple spanning across like a spider web. The moment she brought her hands to it, he bit down on his lip and closed his eyes, flinching in pain but not making a single sound.

Maddie worked quickly, doing her best to assess the damage as fast as she could. After a moment, she pulled away, sighing. "At least three, maybe four broken ribs," she told him, and he tilted his head to the side, letting his eyes open. As if he expected as much.

"Ah—it'll be fine in the morning," he brushed off, but there was a trace of strain in his voice, despite the adamancy in his eyes.

Maddie frowned at him, shaking her head slightly as she helped him pull his shirt back on. "Danny, why were you sneaking in at 2:30 in the morning with injuries like this?"

Flinching as he put his arms through the armhole and pulled the hem back down his abdomen, covering the scarred, marred skin once more, he raised an eyebrow at her. "I just told you—remember? I got tied up? Come on, Mom, I even made a joke with it. You can't tell me it was so bad you've already _forgotten_ it, can you?"

Maddie fought against the smile threatening to don her lips, shaking her head again. "No," she denied, her eyebrows drawing together, "why were you _sneaking_ in?"

Now Danny frowned. "I mean—we had that agreement that I wouldn't just, you know… fly in through the wall of my bedroom after patrol, anymore. I thought you _wanted_ me to come in through the front door."

Maddie sighed. He wasn't following. "Why weren't you planning on _telling us_ you got this hurt?" she clarified, and his eyes widened a little.

"Oh." He hesitated, lifting his left hand—the not hurt side—to rub at the back of his neck sheepishly. "I don't know. I just—I guess I didn't want to worry you."

Maddie exhaled, taking a seat on the stool next to Danny. "Sweetheart, you have broken _bones._ That's not something you should hide from us."

Danny winced, guilt coiling in his throat so bad he almost couldn't speak. He'd hid _years_ of broken bones from them. Years of concussions. Years of gashes and gouges so deep he'd have to stitch his own torn body up—him, or Sam, or Tuck, or Jazz. He knew his mom hadn't meant it in _this_ way—hadn't been referring to these years of lies. But Danny couldn't help but be reminded.

He shook his head again, an apology on his face despite the way the action made his head throb painfully. "I didn't—if we're being honest, I didn't even think to tell you," he said quietly. "A few broken ribs is nothing compared to some other injuries I've gotten, I—I didn't think it was worth bothering you guys about. I didn't really realize I would be hiding it."

Maddie's face nearly crumbled, the hardness of it melting away with his words. "Oh, sweetie," she sighed, and placed her hand over his. When had his hand gotten so much larger than hers? "Please, just—do me a favor, okay? If you get hurt like this, from some fight o-or some ghost, please tell us. From now on?"

Danny nodded in agreement, almost immediately. There was something _unnerved_ about his mother's voice, a tone he wanted to get rid of as permanently as he could. "Sure," he complied, looking at her again. "I will."

"Even the ones you think are _nothing,"_ Maddie pressed, and a wobbly smile tugged at her mouth. "Like four broken ribs and a concussion."

He cracked a smile too. "My ribs will be superglued back together in an hour—two, tops. You do realize that, don't you?"

She elbowed him a little, gently so not to jostle his ribs, but enough. "Then humor me," she requested. "I'm supposed to be obnoxiously overprotective. I'm your _mother._ It's my job."

Danny's smile grew a little, and he dropped his head to rest on her shoulder easily. "Yeah," he sighed as he did. "And you're really good at it."

"Being obnoxiously overprotective?" she asked, but her words gave away the smile Danny couldn't see.

"Nah," he denied softly. "Being my mom."


	7. Ghost Zone Express

A/N: So I hopped on the bandwagon at some point with the whole _Casper High's Ghost Studies Class Takes a Field Trip to the Ghost Zone_ thing because it's actually a pretty cool trope to explore? I know it's been done time and time again, which is why I never really felt the need to expand it into an entire story, but I did write little snippets here and there capturing the class on their journey through the alien dimension - I figure, there are some cool character interactions there, somewhere, just waiting to be explored.

* * *

"There's no way we're getting through the Ghost Zone untouched."

Sam raised an eyebrow at Danny. "Please tell me you're not _just_ figuring that out?"

Danny grimaced, making sure the Fenton Phone was secure in his ear. "Of course not," he muttered, switching the comm off. "But I think it just hit me how _terrible_ it's going to be, to try and keep the whole class from provoking the ghosts into fighting."

Tucker grinned. "Yeah, but we have _Danny Phantom_ on our side," he insisted, his voice airy and full of mock adoration. "He'll _never_ let anything happen to _us."_

Sam snorted. "I still can't believe _that_ was the main argument the A-listers made to get the faculty to fully approve of this trip. They do realize ninety-nine percent of ghosts hate Danny's guts, don't they?" she questioned, and raised her eyebrows. "I mean, haven't they _seen_ the news footage? They kick him around all the time."

Danny nodded good-naturedly. "Thanks, Sam."

Tucker dropped his grin, crinkling his nose as his eyes widened a little. "Well _I_ just can't believe _Dash_ was the one defending your honor. One day he's pummeling you to a pulp, the next day he's worshiping the ground you stand on. It can't be real."

"And yet here we are," Sam sighed, shaking her head.

The class bustled around them, clipping on uitiliity belts, zipping up jumpsuits, charging up weapons—like an adolescent army of ghostbusters.

Danny stifled a snort as the Fenton Thermos in Mikey's hand activated, the resulting bright light startling him into dropping it and letting out a yelp of surprise. "You never know," he offered, trying to be optimistic. "The ghost shenanigans _has_ been pretty quiet since the asteroid. Maybe they'll leave us alone."

He was met with matching, deadpanned expressions, and his shoulders deflated.

"Yeah, it was stupid, wasn't it?"

"Alright, kids!" Jack's booming voice sounded out, and from the other side of the room, he gestured grandly to the souped up yellow school bus behind him— complete with a ghost shield, weapons, radar, and basically everything else the GAV featured. "All aboard, Ghost Zone Express!"

Danny flinched as his classmates eagerly collected their belongings and started racing towards the bus, chattering and cheering as they went. "Maybe we'll get lucky," Danny muttered, shaking his head as he watched his father begin to round the bus, loading his own stuff inside. "Maybe my dad's driving will kill us before the ghosts get a chance to."

This earned him a chuckle from Tucker and a smile from Sam.

Over the clatter, the voice of Maddie Fenton rang strong and clear, and people slowed to a stop, all eyes turning to her. "Remember, kids – only take what you'll need for the week. Jumpsuits must be worn at all times to protect you from ecto-radiation and ambient energies in the Zone. Spectre Deflectors should remain locked and worn at all times – we've already shown you how to activate them were we to ever need them. Large weapons are to remain on the bus, unless in the case of an emergency. Small weapons are allowed to be carried in your utility belt-packs. _All weapons are to be deactivated unless otherwise instructed by Jack or myself."_ The last point, she raised her voice slightly in emphasis. She smiled slightly. "If and when we stop to get out and take a look around, you are not to go wandering off alone. We'll have a buddy system in place, and you are to stick to your buddy at all times. When we're walking around, I will lead the front of the group, and Jack will take the back, and you are to stay in between us. Any questions?"

When she was met with silence, her smile grew. "Okay, class, then I think we're just about ready to go. Don't forget to keep in mind that we're not there to do any harm. We're visitors, there—any ghosts we see are to be treated with respect and kindness. We're going to learn, and to study, and to explore the nature of the Ghost Zone. We aren't there to cause trouble, to start any fights. That's not what this is about. Understood?"

Again, silence.

Tentatively, someone spoke up. "But—suppose a fight did break out," the voice said, and Danny looked over to find Kwan frowning nervously. "Won't the ghosts be stronger, there? Than they are here? It is the Ghost Zone, after all."

Maddie hesitated, but just slightly, just for a moment. "That's what we had the training for, then, isn't it? The weapons, the demonstrations. You know how they fight—you're prepared." The crowd of students broke out in hushed, excited whispers.

Oh, God, they were all going to die.

He shook his head. "Uh—Mom?" he asked quietly, approaching her and trying not to catch everyone's attention in doing so. It didn't seem to work.

Maddie turned her face to him and smiled fondly. "What is it, sweetie?"

"I, uh—" he cleared his throat, shaking his head again, aware people were listening in but keeping his voice low nonetheless, trying to keep the conversation between him and his mother only. "I don't really know if a week of training with basic ecto-weapons is really a great judge of whether or not they're ready to _actually_ fight ghosts in the Ghost Zone. Maybe if anything happens they should just... leave it to you and Dad?" By which he meant himself and Sam and Tuck, though he didn't feel it would help the situation any to mention it.

A low cloud of mumbling. Some agreeing, nervous and scared of going through with it at all—the idea of going into the Ghost Zone is great in theory, but the reality of it? Not so much. Others seemed to disagree. One student in particular—one of the football goons that always follow Dash around.

"You think you're the only kid strong enough to fight ghosts, Fenton?" he snarled, because, _of course,_ someone picked on the subtle subtext in his words.

Danny let out a breath through his nose. There's always a critic. "That isn't what I said."

"Sure sounded like it, glowstick."

Danny's jaw tightened at the nickname. He still wasn't sure how he felt about it, but the way the jock was spitting it out now made him hate it. "Look, I'm just saying not to go charging into something you're not ready for. Cockiness gets people hurt."

"Oh, so now I'm _cocky?_ " the goon continued.

Danny closed his eyes. It wasn't worth it. "You know what, just—just forget it." He shook his head and turned away, retreating back to the lab bench to retrieve his things while his mother, after a moment, picked up the instructions seamlessly, as if there was no awkward dispute interrupting it.

By the time he, Sam and Tucker finished getting their things together, almost everyone else had loaded onto the bus. He looked them over once more as he hefted his bag to his shoulder, letting out a snort. "Looking good, guys—I think we should make this a permanent thing."

Tucker looked like he wanted to cry, whereas Sam looked like she was going to punch him. They wore matching orange HAZMAT jumpsuits, their black utility belts secure and gaudy around their waists. Sam had to ditch her combat boots for the matching, regulation rubber things attached to the suit that almost went up to her knees. "You're so lucky you don't have to wear this," Tucker groaned, pulling at the tight-clinging spandex around his neck.

Danny felt a teasing grin tug at his lips. "It's not like I need to protect myself against ambient ecto-energy."

Sam glared. "We've been to the Zone a _thousand times,_ we don't need these stupid suits." She glowered lower, picking up her bag and slinging it over her shoulder with annoyed vigor. The silver and green Wrist Ray she cherished so much clashed with the orange spandex. "Come on, can't risk them leaving without us," she muttered, turning on her heel towards the bus. "Then they'd really be dead."


	8. The Second Day

Danny shifted on his feet nervously as he lingered on the stoop, bouncing slightly and resisting the urge to turn on his heel and hightail it out of there. But he owed this to Tucker - he couldn't just walk away. Before he could change his mind, the moment of certainty had him lifting his hand and knocking solidly, strongly on the wooden door. Almost as if he was confident in what he was about to do. He wasn't, of course, but—fake it till you make it, right?

Of course, that didn't stop dread from bubbling up inside his stomach the second his hand fell back down to his side.

He felt like passing out when the door finally opened, shortly after. All the air escaped his lungs as he blinked at the man who had pulled the door open, hand lingering on the doorknob as he regarded Danny with surprise in his eyes. Danny blinked again at him, shifting again on his feet as he dropped his gaze a fraction lower, not meeting the father's eyes.

There was a beat of speechless stagnation before anyone spoke. "Danny," Mr. Foley exhaled, and Danny winced slightly. But before he could get a word out to make a feeble attempt at explaining himself, he found himself being drawn closer to the man, who gripped him securely in a very tight, very fatherly hug. Not expecting it, Danny hesitated only a moment before returning the gesture.

He hadn't seen the Foleys in almost a week. Since before. He'd spent an entire day holed up at home following the asteroid, with his family, his parents, offering stories and explanations and anything he needed to make sure things were okay. And they were. Or, at least, they would be. Hopefully.

Then he spent some time figuring out what to do next—and next, the most logical jump, was to talk to his friends' parents. Apologize to them. For lying, for putting their children at risk. For everything. So the second day, body still drained of energy and exhaustion clinging to him like a rancid stench, he made it his mission. Ventured out into a brand new world, bags under his eyes and a flimsy resolve he forced himself to steel.

He'd gone to Sam's house already, but that didn't last long. Raised voices and guilt and slamming doors. Danny hadn't gotten three words out before he found himself on the wrong end of pointed fingers and hateful words.

He wasn't sure what kind of reaction he was expecting out of his best friend's parents, but compared to Sam's, this certainly wasn't the worst way to begin.

"It's good to see you, son," he continued, breaking the embrace and practically beaming down at the boy. He gripped Danny's shoulder. "Come on in."

Danny smiled weakly, nodding appreciatively as they crossed the threshold into the house. "Sweetheart - guess who stopped by!" he called towards the kitchen, where Danny assumed Angela Foley was, if the mouth-watering smell of dinner was any indication.

Danny winced - he didn't want to intrude on their dinner plans. "I, I don't mean to interrupt—"

"Dad? Who was at the door?" a voice came, followed by footfalls coming down the stairs. When the boy emerged and was in their line of sight, he froze on the steps, dark brown eyebrows drawing together in confusion. "Danny? What are you doing here? I thought we were going to Sam's tonight."

Danny rubbed the back of his neck as he turned his attention to his best friend. "Sam's parents… don't want me over there anymore," he admitted, and lowered his gaze again. With a small shrug, he sighed. "Not that I blame them. The never liked me before - now at least they have a good reason for it."

As Tucker descended the rest of the steps, his frown deepened, little lines appearing between his eyebrows. "Don't do that to yourself, dude."

Danny waved his disapproval off. "It's okay. I didn't expect anything else, honestly. I tried to talk to them about everything, explain myself - they practically threatened to call the Morons in White on me. Sam's pissed and isn't speaking to either one of them, and they grounded her until further notice."

"What else is new," Tucker muttered, but there was little humor in it. His eyes were apologetic as he regarded Danny. "So what now?"

Danny bit his lip and turned to Tucker's parents, his mother now hovering in the threshold to the kitchen with a dishtowel still in her hands. "I owe you guys an explanation."

"Oh, Danny," Angela exhaled, shaking her head as she approached him with gentle eyes. "Tucker already gave us the cliffnotes version. Sweetie, you don't owe us anything."

"Yes, I do," Danny insisted, nodding his head. "The mob of… journalists and _reporters_ that have been camping outside my window for the past two days?" He shrugged, shaking his head slightly. "No. But you guys, absolutely."

From the kitchen, a timer went off, causing the woman in front of him to jump. She glanced over her shoulder, and Danny once again felt bad for intruding.

He shook his head again, guilt coiling in his chest. "I'm sorry - I should've called first. I can just come back some other time." He paused, palling at least three shades before swallowing. "If you want me to come back at all, I mean."

Angela frowned at him in disapproval, her eyebrows drawn together but her eyes warm. "Now stop that. Honey, you're always welcome here - I mean it." Hesitating slightly, Danny dropped his head into a small nod. He didn't deserve that—her hospitality. Not after lying to them for so long, having his best friend lie to them for so long. Still, she pressed forwards, unconcerned. "Why don't you stay for dinner, and then we can talk about, well - whatever you think we need to. Yeah?"

Danny paused. "Are you - are you sure?"

Tucker, who was still standing next to him, made a noise that resembled a snort of laughter and cuffed him in the back of the head. Surprised and bringing a hand up to where he'd been stricken, he turned his wide eyes onto his best friend. "Uh - _ow?"_

Tucker looked very satisfied with himself, and shook his head at Danny. "Stop being stupid. Come on, help me set the table." He pulled gently on Danny's arm, drawing him towards the dining room.

Danny glanced quickly to Mr. and Mrs. Foley, offering them a small, grateful smile. "Thank you."

Angela returned it with a warm smile of her own, care and concern and pride in her eyes as she leaned into Mr. Foley's side. "Hope you like meatloaf."


	9. Lightning Strikes

Gym class. It was hard enough before, to ignore every instinct he had, suppress every reaction he automatically assumed whenever something came flying at his face in order to keep up his wimpy kid façade. Striking out in baseball, hiding in the back during dodgeball, fumbling every pass in flag football, missing the net, rim, and backboard completely while taking a shot in basketball… it had gotten to the point where this stuff was hard for him to do, the same way flying long distances, aiming ecto-blasts, and controlling his ice powers had once been.

Now, though, his body has been trained in it – context clues really were everything. Stuff flying at his face while he saw black hair in the corner of his vision and was surrounded by classmates? Let it hit, or attempt to dodge it and fail, maybe even trip up a little bit. Things flying at his face when he could see his own ghostly glow, when there was snow white hair falling into his eyes, when he was faced with not classmates, but enemies? Dodge it, put up a shield, send the attack back at whoever sent it at him, take it like a man but deliver it back tenfold… all of these things became learned, conditional responses.

But now that his wimpy kid façade was blown, there really was no reason to hide. Still, even before class started, Danny was falling into old habits. Taking his time unzipping his bag, putting the combination in for his locker with meticulous, slow accuracy, unpacking his bag and placing his gym clothes neatly on the bench beside it… Buying his time until the rest of the locker room was empty so that he could change his clothes without anyone noticing the extensive scarring he sported across his skin from years of fighting ghosts.

Tucker, who had gym with him, had frowned a little when he noticed Danny's actions. His eyebrows drew together as he laid his beret on the bench, pulling his standard yellow long sleeved shirt over his head. "Dude, I don't know why you're still waiting for the room to clear – people know. It's not a secret anymore. With the amount of times you publically get your ghost ass handed to you, they'd probably be a little surprised if you didn't have a few scars."

Danny shot him a glare as he pulled on his gym shirt, despite knowing that really, Tucker had a point. Danny shrugged a little, and set to untying his sneakers to avoid his gaze. "I don't know. Habit, I guess."

Tucker shook his head, pulling his beret back on. "Dude, the whole point of the whole revelation is so that you don't have to hide anymore. That includes hiding late in the gym class locker rooms." Danny kicked his shoes off, not saying a word because, again, Tucker had a point. Danny heard a sigh heaved from his best friend as he pulled his belt off. "Look – no one's even paying attention to you, for once. Everyone's doing their own thing, just like you should. Do you really want Tetslaff to give you a hard time over being late again?"

Another good point, and damn it, why did Tucker have to be perceptive like that? He shot a glare at Tucker, who simply shoved his bag into his gym locker and closed the door tight, a satisfied, smug smile donning his face. "You do you, man – I'll see you out there."

Danny watched his friend exit, before sighing heavily towards his own, open locker. His fingers twitched nervously at the hem of his shirt, taking the fabric in his hands and dropping it almost immediately after, only to take it up again and drop it. Tucker was right, no more hiding. That's why he revealed his secret in the first place – because it would mean no more secrets, no more lies. He curled his fingers at the hem of his shirt and tugged it up, above his shoulders and over his head, pulling what's become a safety blanket to him off of his body and tossing it aside. The skin on his legs wasn't as marred, as damaged as it was on his chest, abdomen and back, but still, stepping out of his jeans exposed scarred lower legs as well.

Gradually, very slowly, the chattering voices of the locker room decreased, growing softer and softer as the subject matter they spoke of almost definitely drifted to a new topic. Danny felt their eyes on him, but turned to the bench nonetheless to bend and pick up his gym t-shirt. He didn't meet anyone's gaze, though they were on him, and he tried not to discern words in the murmurs floating around, though they were about him. Instead, he picked up the tee and slid it on, going about his business as if he were any other student on any other day simply changing clothes for gym class. After covering up his scars and pulling his sweatpants on, Danny risked a single glace up, not at anyone in particular, or at anything. Just up. He saw almost every person avert their eyes, covering the fact that they'd been staring. Or, attempting to, at least.

The whispered murmurs slowly became a dull roar again, and while Danny could tell some conversations returned to their original topics, others stayed on a certain fifteen-year-old half ghost. He purposefully faced the locker room when he sat on the bench to put his shoes back on, tying the laces without a word to anyone. No one said a word to him, either, though he knew many words were being spoken about him. While the world was getting used to the idea of Danny Phantom, superhero ghost fighter actually being Danny Fenton, small-town underachiever, the students of Casper High were what really worried Danny.

Regardless of anything else that happened, Danny Fenton was still enrolled in Casper High, and had to go to school. If his parents didn't accept him for who (and what) he was, he'd still have to go to school. If the Guys in White broke down their door for questioning one night, Danny would still have to go to school the next day. If angry mobs camped out in front of his house claiming him an "abomination to humanity", he'd still have to go to school. He was going to be surrounded by people who saw him as a wimp, as a loser, as a geek, and as a hero all at the same time. As much as was going on, Danny still hoped to graduate high school, and to get into a good college. He didn't know if he could do that if his classmates didn't react well.

And it went about as well as he had expected it to go. Some people were pissed off and angry that he'd been lying for so long and that they could never trust him—as Fenton or Phantom—ever again. Which honestly isn't something he totally blamed them for. He lied to a lot of people, for a really long time. He wouldn't necessarily trust him either, he doesn't think.

Other people praised him as if he were some sort of god, which was, needless to say, utterly humiliating. He didn't want praise, or adoration – that was the point of the whole secret identity thing to begin with. But he got it. For a while, everywhere he turned, people were saving him seats, asking him out, buying him things. After a while though, it became apparent to the students of Casper High that Danny was no different than he ever had been, and the only thing he wanted was to be treated like normal, like how they'd' been treating him for years. So some of the attention on him died down, and some of the gossip going around school returned to being about relationships and who's hooking up with who, and not solely about Danny – though it did still happen. He was a hot topic, but not the number one trending story anymore.

Satisfied that his shoes were tied well, Danny rose to his feet, picked up his gym bag and turned to shove it in his locker, before closing the door and taking a deep breath. That hadn't been so bad. It could've been worse, all things considered. He was about to join the slow stream of students exiting the locker room, when he felt a tentative hand on his shoulder.

His instincts told him to react defensively, to grab the hand and twist himself out of the situation, protecting himself while subduing his enemy. If it was white hair in the corner of his vision, he might have – but again, context clues. He was beat up all the time as Danny Fenton, and he'd conditioned himself to feigning meekness. His ghost sense hadn't gone off, and the hand on his shoulder was big and warm, not cold and icy. Still, he couldn't help the way his body tensed up a little, shoulders tightening at the touch.

Whoever it was must've noticed his reaction, because immediately, the hand was drawn away. Danny turned to see who it was, only to have to look up a few extra inches into the always cheerful, yet slightly intense face Kwan sported. Not exactly who Danny was expecting, but it wasn't a total shock either. Kwan always was a pretty decent person – he was the only one of Dash's minions that didn't always seem to agree with what he did.

Kwan dropped his arm awkwardly, smiling a little. "You know, my grandpa was struck by lightning back in '42 and has a scar like yours. You know – the one that kinda looks like tree roots?" He squinted his eyes a little. "Lina—likte.." He shook his head, words failing. "I forget what they're called. Anyways, I think they're pretty cool looking, like some kinda symbol of survival. He's eighty-five and still rocking it."

Danny blinked at the larger man for a moment, before dropping his gaze. He always hated that scar. Not so much for himself, but for his friends. It wasn't something he could hide from them easily – spanning the upper, left corner of his back and weening thinner and thinner as it approached the small of his back, the scar crept over his left shoulder, expanding into what appeared to be a mess of tree roots curling and winding their way around where his heart is. It was his biggest scar, by far, and whenever Tucker or Sam had to stitch him up from some injury or another, there was no real way to avoid seeing it. They tried to hide it, but they would always wince a little, or their breath would hitch, and their eyes would linger on it just long enough for Danny to notice.

He didn't mind the scar so much personally – honestly, his skin was so marred by now from ectoblasts, energy balls, anti-ecto weapons, too many gashes, cuts, slices and wounds to count that he'd given up on feeling angry about it, or ashamed of it. But the fact that it held the power to upset them made him hate it. It was his first scar since becoming Danny Phantom, the scar from the very same accident that killed him. Or, part of him, at least.

Of course, he – well, he didn't remember much about the actual accident part of the accident. He remembered going into the inactive portal, stepping through metal and wires and circuits like it was some technological jungle. He remembered tripping, falling into a wall and his hand pressing a button, and then… pain. The worst pain he's ever been in, for what felt like an eternity. But he never really was aware of what was happening. Just that there was pain.

And then he was stumbling out of the portal, into the lab, phasing and falling through Sam's hands, like some kind of ghost, and his life (afterlife?) changed forever.

But Sam and Tuck? They witnessed it. They witnessed the accident, the pain, the change. If the roles were reversed, and he'd been forced to see one of his best friends undergo that much pain, experience an electrocution serious enough to legitimately kill part of them… well, he'd hate the scar, too.

Lost in his thoughts, Danny hadn't seen the tentative smile fade from Kwan's face, nor did he notice him turn to leave the now nearly-empty locker room. Kwan was pushing the door open when Danny blinked, realizing how in getting tangled up in his thoughts, he had inadvertently hurt someone being genuine with him outside of his friends and family for the first time since his stupid secret had been revealed. He shook his head, speaking quickly to try and get the words out before Kwan was out of earshot.

"They're called Lichtenberg figures."

Having already crossed the threshold into the gym, Kwan held the door open for the person behind him before crossing back into the locker room. "What?" he asked, his brows furrowing together.

Danny shrugged. "The scars. They're called Lichtenberg figures. And you're right – they're most common on lightning strike victims."

Kwan brightened at that, at the fact that he'd actually managed to strike up a dignified conversation with words, rather than an undignified one with his fists. For a minute, his smile faltered and an almost anxious look flickered on his face, in his eyes. "So…what was it?" he asked, but there was a worried crease between his eyebrows, as if he wasn't sure if that was a question he was allowed to ask. "Was it—was it that crazy weather ghost? The tornado one?"

Danny raised his eyebrows at the description. "Vortex?" he supplied, and when Kwan grinned and nodded, Danny shook his head. "Nah. That cloud couldn't land a bolt on me if he tried."

Kwan's eyebrows shot to his hairline. "Really?"

Danny snorted a laugh, nodding towards the door to the gym. "No, not really – haven't you seen the news footage? He kicks my ass every time he crawls his way out of the Ghost Zone." Together, the two turned to leave, but continued their conversation as they walked, taking their time in joining their classmates. "But no – it wasn't from Vortex."

Kwan frowned as they pushed their way into the gymnasium. "Well, with a mark that big, it must've been one hell of a strike." He laughed. "Get it? Like—lightning strike? Electricity?" He said it nonchalantly but noticed when Danny winced a little, and his eyes widened and he backtracked. "I uh – I mean. I didn't—sorry. Sorry."

Kwan diverted his gaze as they joined up with their class, but stayed towards the back so that they could still talk without too many eavesdropping ears. Danny shook his head a little, though, sighing a little. He didn't know how to approach this. He's only ever had to explain what happened that night twice – once to his sister, and once to his parents. Tucker and Sam needed no explanation. Still, Danny wasn't totally sure he wanted to give Kwan the whole story, like he did with his family. After all, this was a person who has beaten him up under the orders of another on more than one occasion. And this was… well, it was _personal._ Really personal. Part of him had _died._ He wasn't sure he wanted stuff that close to home getting out.

Danny squinted a little as he thought. "You know how I was out for a little over a week freshmen year?" he finally settled on.

Kwan, satisfied that he hadn't upset Danny, chuckled. "Do I? Dash didn't know what to do with himself without his favorite punching bag at school." He shook his head, laughing a little more. "Man, he wailed on you even harder when you got back. Said he had to make up for lost time."

Danny snorted, the memories clear in his head. "I remember. Distinctly."

Kwan's smile faltered. "I—I tried to get him to give you a break. But you know how he is, sometimes? Dash gets what he wants." His eyes drifted for a moment before he shook it off. "Why?"

Danny sighed again, feeling slightly uncomfortable. This was all still new, to him – the fact that he didn't have things to hide, anymore. Obviously there was still a lot of things he wanted to keep to himself, but… he doesn't need to hide everything, all the time. Not anymore.

"I—I was in an accident," he began, wincing slightly as the class began to do a few warm-up laps around the track at a jog. "In my parent's lab. It was…it was really dumb. I was fooling around with some of their equipment and got electrocuted."

The amusement that had been present in Kwan's expression faded. "Electrocuted like… " he trailed off, the question evident. "Electrocuted bad?"

"Bad enough that when I woke up, I was a ghost." He hesitated. "That's… that's where that scar is from."

Kwan fell silent after that, and for a moment, Danny regretted his new "not hiding everything" policy. There was a chance to actually make friends with Kwan – well, maybe not friends, necessarily, but not enemies either. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea, to be honest. Maybe even with the world knowing, he was still too much of a freak to be honest with the people around him. They jogged in silence for a while, while Danny mentally kicked himself for being so stupid.

"I'm really sorry, Danny," Kwan said quietly, a lap and a half of silence later. By now, most of the class was walking. However Kwan and Danny kept up a steady pace, Kwan only starting to get winded, Danny barely breaking a sweat. They'd lost Tucker about a half of a lap ago. They slowed to a comfortable talking tempo, and Danny sent him a confused frown.

"What for?" Honestly, Kwan didn't have anything to be sorry for. Danny got over being angry about him and Dash beating him to a pulp every chance they got a long time ago – and besides that, he never really blamed Kwan for that, at all.

Kwan shrugged a little sheepishly, if a teenage boy the size of a building can even be sheepish, and his eyebrows drew together a little, lowered into a furrow. "I don't know – everything, I guess. You had so much going on, and we only ever made things worse. So I'm sorry."

Danny slowed to a stop, turning to Kwan who followed suit. "Dude, I've had my ass handed to me by people a lot worse than you and Dash. It's fine. Honestly."

Kwan winced. "I just – you know, I don't even get why we did it, most of the time. If I'm being honest, I didn't even want to. Not really. But if I didn't, I don't know. I figured Dash would get rid of me and replace me with someone who'd listen to him, who wouldn't care as much. Is that stupid of me? I mean, the guy's my best friend, and I still felt like I had to impress him in order for him to keep me around. How lame is that?"

Danny felt his eyebrows drawing together. As much of a dick as Dash was, Danny was sure he'd never replace Kwan. From everything he's seen, Kwan was his go-to-man for anything and everything. Family problems, girl issues, financial struggles, grades… Dash valued Kwan. It seemed like Kwan didn't value himself as much.

When Danny didn't respond right away, a deep flush crept up his large neck and he averted his gaze. "Sorry, I just—ah, sorry."

"No," Danny said quickly, shaking his head. "No, don't be. To be honest, I'm kinda glad to be having a conversation with someone outside of Sam, Tuck, and my immediate family. I just – I guess I just don't quite understand why you're telling me this. I mean, no offense or anything, but you and I have never really been what I consider friends, and you're being like…super honest right now. Which is cool. Just not what I expected."

The blush on Kwan's neck stopped creeping up towards his cheeks, but remained nonetheless. "I just – I don't know, Fenton. You've been super honest too. Don't you think that's the best way to go, now? Isn't it like…your new thing?"

Ah. So this is where that came from. Danny sighed. "Kwan, just because I told people a secret that I was keeping doesn't mean I think everyone should be a hundred percent honest a hundred percent of the time. As someone who kept a lot of secrets for a really long time, I still think they're justifiable to have, sometimes." Danny waved his hand, gesturing pretty generically at everything. "Sometimes secrets keep people safe. Sometimes they hurt people. Sometimes they do both. It all depends on the circumstances."

As they curved along the track to finish their third and final lap, Kwan stayed quiet. Again, Danny saw the little crease between his eyebrows, and backtracked, not wanting to hurt Kwan's feelings. "I don't mean that being honest is a bad thing," he added quickly. "I know as far as my parents are concerned, I should've been honest with them a lot earlier. If you feel like you need to impress Dash by beating up nerds all day in order for him to keep you around, I think being honest with him might be a good idea. I think he appreciates you more than you realize. As much of a dick as he is, he's not entirely heartless."

A smile flickered on Kwan's face at that, and they picked up the pace again, returning to a steady jog. They lapped a few of their classmates, who watched them with impressed eyes that Danny could feel follow them even as they widened the gap between them. A half of a lap later, Kwan spoke up again. "So why did you do it?"

Danny's eyebrows drew together. "Do what?"

Kwan shrugged a little. "You know—change like that, or whatever. Tell people the truth."

There was a beat of silence before Danny snorted, only it was a little bitter, a little self-deprecating. "I've been wondering the same thing," he admitted, then shook his head. "Nah, I don't know—adrenaline, maybe? Heat of the moment, type deal?"

Danny bit his lip for a moment, his eyebrows drawing together. He backtracked, more sincere. "I'm appealing to get some of the Anti-Ecto Restriction Acts revoked," he said honestly. "The whole thing with the Disasteroid… it showed people that ghosts aren't necessarily as innately evil as they thought. Granted, most of them only helped save us because if the Earth is destroyed, so is the Ghost Zone, but that's beside the point. People are second guessing whether or not all ghosts deserve to be hunted – captured, experimented on. Destabilized. Which they don't. But none of the Acts would even be considered for revocation or amendment unless there was some sort of positive relationship between ghosts and humans that gave people a reason to believe they ought to be changed."

Understanding sparked in Kwan's eyes. "And by telling people the truth…"

"I could vouch for both sides, maybe be a… mediator, or something," Danny confirmed, nodding. "There are some people so against ghosts that they wouldn't give one an ounce of their attention – wouldn't trust, say, Danny Phantom, with their life. Danny Fenton, though? He's just some dorky kid. They'd trust him over a ghost any day, even if he is some freaky hybrid."

Kwan nodded as the pair slowed to a stop at the end of their lap, following the lines over to where Tetslaff was waiting for the class to return. Silently, Kwan began to shake his head.

Danny quirked an eyebrow at him. "What?"

"Nothing," Kwan said.

Danny rolled his eyes. "What?"

Shrugging, Kwan's eyebrows rose a little. "You just have a lot more guts than I thought you did, Fenton. I'm impressed."

Danny blinked at the jock for a moment, but the sincerity in his voice and expression didn't falter. A smile tugged at the corner of Danny's mouth. "Uh—thanks, Kwan." Maybe he wasn't as mindless a minion as he thought. "Really."

Kwan smiled, then, a little bit proud and a little bit appreciative. Then he shook his head and the smile faded, replaced by confusion and a hint of anger. "But seriously – Danny Phantom, Danny Fenton… How were we all too stupid to figure that out?"

"Dude, I've been asking myself the same thing for years."

* * *

A/N: So the reception for this series has been so great I'm just like? Utterly speechless, thank you all so much for the wonderful feedback!

This one-shot in particular has a few notes I would like to point out:

1\. Nod to the "Lichtenberg Figure" headcanon because _yes yes yes yes yes a million times yes_

2\. GIW enforcing some kind of Anti-Ecto Control Act prior to this story's occurrence (also still unsure how I feel about this; I think it's an interesting plot tool however slightly overdone?)

3\. Kwan is really just such a sweetie and he doesn't mean to be a big bully he just wants his best friend to keep him around :(

4\. Dash is indirectly portrayed a bit OOC from how I usually write him (mostly that he's an asshole in this one-shot, whereas in other one-shots/my other story Easy Target he's actually like a decent guy and has a teasing former-bully-turned-minor-nuisance-with-good-intentions relationship with Danny post-reveal)

5\. Also Tucker is a bit OOC I think too and I tried to fix it but I don't think it worked very well, but then again, I've never been great at writing Tucker so I guess that's to be expected?

Thank you again for all of the reviews!


	10. Tutor

"Hey, _glowstick!"_

Danny sighed, the nickname and the brash voice it was paired with halting him in his tracks. "What do you want, Dash?" He didn't bother to turn around.

He waited, hearing heavy footfalls approach. Dash emerged from the corner of his vision, crossing to stand by him. "I need your help with something."

Danny raised an eyebrow, casting a glance around the hallway. No ghosts. No threats. No screaming people or terrified students. Everything seemed okay. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Help with what?"

If Danny didn't know any better, he would've sworn that was a flush of pink working its way up his neck. "I, uh – well, you know a lot about ghosts, right?"

A snort. "I should hope so."

Dash shifted on his feet a little. "Well I'm – I'm not doing too good in Ghost Studies—"

"Well," Danny corrected, trying to hide the satisfaction he felt at Dash's unfamiliar awkwardness.

Confusion flooded Dash's eyes, and he looked at the halfa curiously. "What?"

Danny shook his head. "Never mind." He waved a hand vaguely. "So what – are you gonna beat me up until I agree to write your papers for you or something?"

The flush coloring Dash's cheeks paled, his face getting about three shades lighter in a second. "What? I – no, no," he said quickly, and shook his head adamantly, as if even the concept of trying to beat Danny up was something he didn't dare consider. Not anymore, at least. "I just – Lancer told me that since it's a prerequisite, if I don't pass it I'm not going to graduate."

Ah. Danny understood now, eyebrows raising in realization. "Are you asking me to _tutor_ you? You?"

The flush that had been making its way up his neck colored his cheeks brightly, but his eyes narrowed into a glare as if it was Danny's fault. "I'm not _asking,_ Fentoad."

And there he was – the old Dash. Pushing people around to get what he wants. "And what if I said no?"

Dash's hands, at his sides, tightened into fists. "Then I'm gonna—I'm gonna—" He raised a fist as if in a threat.

Danny raised his eyebrows at the bully.

Dash's fist lowered. "Look, I would just really appreciate it, okay? Even if you can't, and you could talk to one of your nerd friends, or something, maybe. I don't know. Even your sister. I just—" Dash broke off, and swallowed. He shook his head. "I _have_ to pass this class, Fenton. If I don't, I can't graduate, and my dad's gonna kill me if I lose my football scholarship. Okay? I just—I need someone to help. You and your friends know more about ghosts than everyone else in this city combined."

Danny watched him, for a moment, gauging his sincerity. There was an actual note of fear in his eyes, a hint of pleading in his voice. And reluctance. Maybe a little embarrassment. Danny sighed. "Yeah, sure. Okay."

Dash blinked. "Okay?"

"Yeah," Danny repeated, nodding a little. "Okay, I'll tutor you."

Dash, still, didn't seem to understand. "For… for real?"

Danny rolled his eyes. "Yes, for real, Dash. Isn't that what you wanted?"

And Dash grinned. He _grinned._ And it was grateful and it was full of relief and it was _honest._ "Oh, man, _awesome,_ okay—when do you wanna start? Are you free this afternoon? Or is that—no, that's too short notice, isn't it? You're probably busy? What about tomorrow? Meet in the library after school? Three-ish?"

Danny rolled his eyes, a smile tugging at his mouth. Dash really was the biggest _dork._ "Sure," he agreed, nodding. "Sounds perfect."

* * *

 **A/N:** Short one shot, I know, I know. Takes place senior year, assuming the headcannon that Casper High created a Ghost Studies class all students have to take before graduating.

On another note, I'm starting to run out of pre-written one-shots to post to this story, which is why updates have slowed down so drastically (I'm panicking I'm sorry). At first, I was excited to sort of get it all out there, all the various one shots I'd written already. I think I was a little overenthusiastic with my updates heh. This series is far from over, but I'm going to space updates a little farther apart from here on out, due to my... just general inabililty to organize my life, I guess lol. I haven't decided how often I will update, whether it's once a week or once every other Wednesday or whatever it may be, but when I figure it out I'll let y'all know

That being said, this will still be updated! So please keep reading!

Also more "glowstick" nicknames because next to the Lichtenberg figure headcanon it's one of my absolute favorite post-reveal hcs ever, because _glowstick,_ Danny literally _glows_ and his classmates interacting with him post-reveal is one of my favorite things to explore and it's so _fun_ and the nickname could be meant in good humor OR it could be meant as an _insult_ and as a jab at Danny's just general _inhumanness_ and I think it's fantastic and awful and idk why but that angst and that disconnect and dissonance of connotations is just addictive as a writer

As always, thank you for reading and for the reviews!


	11. Collapsed

Maddie couldn't help but worry.

She didn't want to let that show, obviously, as she sat on the couch with her husband, tinkering with the prototype Ghost Goggles in her lap. They were supposed to work almost like using infrared, allowing ghosts to be seen even if they'd gone invisible—drawing off ecto-radiation and temperature and tuning into the frequency that ectoplasm naturally stabilizes at. But the only thing they'd done so far is make everything look green. And Danny hadn't come home from patrol yet. And it was two hours past his curfew. And Maddie was _frustrated_ with the invention and _scared_ for her boy.

A year ago, she never would have imagined that this would be what her life looked like. Failing to make even mediocre ghost hunting equipment at 1AM, while her husband drifted in and out of sleep beside her, snoring lightly. It wasn't that she'd gotten any less _intelligent,_ it was just… her mind had been so many other places, these past two weeks. Something deep in her gut churned unpleasantly whenever she thought about developing a new ghost weapon, like somehow it was a betrayal. For the first few days since finding out, she hadn't even been able to step foot in the lab. Still, even now, she couldn't help but feel guilty at the fact that there was an entire _workplace_ in their house dedicated to equipment that could, quite literally, destroy her son in an instant.

It was like running head first into a brick wall. She couldn't help but reevaluate every thought she had, about ghosts—every approach to inventing she'd ever assumed. Though they'd had the conversations, and Danny had assured them both that he didn't want them to stop inventing, stop studying, stop _hunting,_ there was something so bone-chillingly _wrong_ about it now that Maddie couldn't bear to even consider building more weapons that could potentially kill her little boy. Not again.

Not that he was so little, anymore, really—he was almost sixteen, and he was _mature,_ and he'd been bearing a weight on his shoulders so heavy she wasn't sure how he was still standing, sometimes. Especially while keeping everything secret. It broke her heart.

Across the living room, the television droned on quietly in the background. The movie they'd been watching had ended already, but Maddie had barely noticed when infomercials for some magical dish towel began playing in its wake. It was so late, not even the news was airing to give her some indication of where he was, what he was doing—if he was _fighting,_ if he was _hurt._

She was fiddling with a dial on the side of the goggles, when, from across the room, the doorknob started to turn. The sound of it was loud in the near-silence, and Maddie shot out of her seat, hand instinctively flying to her hip where an ecto-gun was stashed safely into her utility belt. The door shook, still locked, and a moment later a silvery, glowing pair of figures phased right through and fell to the floor on the inside.

Wait—a _pair?_

"Jack!" Maddie hissed, shaking him awake before crossing hastily towards where the two had fallen.

Jack woke with a start, sitting up straight and blinking as he took in the sight. By the door, the figures were shaking as Maddie knelt down beside them.

"Danny? Honey, are you—"

Danny sat up from where he'd collapsed on the floor, from where he'd been shielding the other ghost. There was a gash splitting his eyebrow and ectoplasm trickling down his cheek, but the pure anguish and fear on his face felt like a slap to Maddie's face. Because in his arms, he held another ghost—a small ghost. Young. A young girl.

Who looked exactly like him. Longer hair, sure, smaller, shorter, feminine. Still, the resemblance was… uncanny. Even the jumpsuits they wore matched, down to the insignia.

Maddie blinked, unsure of what to make out of the unconscious girl lying before her as Jack knelt beside them as well, taking in the same scene. He seemed at a loss for words, which was… pretty unusual.

Danny shifted, drawing the ghost closer to himself as his expression melted. He lifted his glowing, wavering gaze to his parents'. "Can—" he broke off, swallowing. "Can you help her?"

Before they got a chance to respond, a ring of light appeared around her waist. Maddie blinked and sat back on her heels as the ring split into two, traveling up and down her body to reveal a young, girl with dark, raven hair, a blue sweatshirt and jeans. Human.

This girl was… she was like Danny? A halfa? Maddie blinked again at her—even her human form looked like Danny's. What… _how…_

" _Please."_ Danny's voice broke her out of her confused reverie, and she brought her gaze back up to his glowing green one. His eyes were watery, and his voice was trembling. "We—we were fighting, and she just—she just _collapsed,_ Mom, I thought she was stable, now, a-and she's not destabilizing, I don't think, but I don't—I don't know what's wrong with her, and I just—" He broke off, shaking his head desperately. "I need her to be okay."

A beat of silence passed before she let out a breath, lifting a hand to push some sweaty, ice cold, white hair from his green-flushed face. "Take her downstairs to the lab," she instructed calmly, and nodded gently. "We'll meet you down there."

Relief flooding his expression, Danny nodded obediently before he and the girl disappeared entirely from sight.

Jack and Maddie exchanged lost, confounded expressions before nodding wordlessly to each other and making their way down to the lab.

* * *

Danny watched them quietly, as they worked. It wasn't that he didn't _trust_ them, necessarily, it was just… This was too close to home for him to be anywhere else. He needed to be there, for this, for _her._ He couldn't just leave Dani alone, after everything. Realistically, he never wanted to leave her alone again.

He stayed out of the way, off to the side far enough to stay clear of their space, but close enough to see what they were doing at all times. If he were human, his heart would've been hammering loudly in his ears. His head throbbed painfully and he was pretty sure his shoulder was dislocated, but that physical pain was no match for the turmoil in his chest, constricting his non-breathing lungs. It felt like he was being strangled by panic. Icy fingers of fear gripped at him, and it was _unnerving_ because he barely ever felt cold in ghost form. Now, though? He was nearly shivering.

What felt like a very long time later, after his parents had taken down her vitals for what seemed like the millionth time, her dark lashes began to flutter. Danny was at her side in an instant, careful not to knock over the tray of Ecto-Dejecto or the syringes full of glowing green _something_ as he moved.

Wide, blue eyes blinking blearily up at the ceiling, she caught Danny's green gaze and offered him a weak smile. "Hey, cuz."

Danny smiled back, finally, _finally,_ releasing a breath it felt like he'd been holding since he phased them through the front door. "Hey, cuz."

She continued to blink, her smile fading as she looked around the room. Tendrils of panic crept into her eyes as she took it in—the metal panels, the tray of syringes, the various work benches and inventions and experiments. She looked back to Danny quickly, struggling to sit up. She swayed, eyes crossing slightly, going out of focus. "D-Danny?"

"Hey," he consoled quietly, nodding gently and lowering her down to lay on the table again. "It's okay, Danielle—I promise, everything's okay. I'm here, alright?"

Fear still in her eyes, they held each other's gazes for a moment before she let out a small breath and nodded slightly. "Okay."

He brushed some hair off her face. "You kinda crashed when we were fighting Walker," he explained carefully. "You just… shut down, or something. I didn't know what to do."

She nodded gently, before raising her eyebrows at him. "Did'ya get him, at least?" Her voice was tired.

He couldn't help the small, grateful laugh from escaping. "Yeah, I got him. Of course I got him."

She smiled. "Cool."

He smiled again, trying to be reassuring. "Wanna try sitting up, again?"

Dani closed her eyes for a second before nodding slowly.

With Danny's help, she was able to sit up and swing her legs over the edge of the table. She kept her hand on Danny's shoulder, and he kept a hand on her back, and he filled with relief when it didn't look like the motion was going to make her collapse again. Her eyes flickered to his parents, and she offered another small, albeit sheepish, smile. "Hi," she said meekly.

His mother almost looked like she was going to cry. She laughed quietly, nodding. "Hi."

"I'm—" Dani began again, but broke off, and cast a weary glance towards Danny. She swallowed. "I'm Elle," she began again, and Danny smiled at that, and she looked back to the Fentons. "I know I don't know you, but—thanks for helping me."

Jack and Maddie's gazes stayed on her curiously. Jack's eyes flicked to Danny and back, before he nodded slowly, offering her a warm smile. "Nice to meet ya, Elle. How are you feeling?"

Elle winced, bringing a hand to the back of her neck. "A little light-headed, I guess," she admitted, rubbing absent-mindedly. "Dizzy. Weird."

Mom smiled a little and turned to rummage through a cabinet hung on the wall. When she returned, she had a small green pill bottle in one hand, two bright green capsules in the other. "Here," she offered, holding them out for her. "These'll help."

Elle took the capsules into her hand carefully, but didn't take them right away. She glanced at Danny.

There was a tightness in his chest, again. He didn't blame her for not trusting them, entirely, after everything she's gone through. With labs, with scientists, with _experiments…_ He offered her another smile, nodding a little, trying not to let the ache in his chest show. "It's okay," he assured her. "I take them too. Like—like ecto-vitamins. They really will help."

Elle nodded, then, and took the pills dutifully. Swallowing, she cast another sheepish glance towards Maddie, who stood with concern and confusion in her eyes. "Sorry," she apologized. "Don't have a great track record when it comes to scientists, is all."

Danny winced, taking note of the guilt and the sorrow and the _compassion_ in his parents' eyes as she said it. He knew that this would come up, eventually—that he'd have to tell them about her, about Vlad, about everything he'd done to them. He just was hoping to have a bit more time to gather his thoughts and prepare himself for it.

Maddie smiled a little at her, but it was wobbly. Wavering in her confusion, in her sympathy. "You should probably get some rest, sweetie," she said gently.

"I can take her upstairs," Danny offered, and glanced back to Elle. "Unless you think you can walk?"

Elle paled a little, even at the concept. "Not so sure that would end well," she admitted. "But, yeah—rest sounds just about perfect right now."

Danny smiled and glanced at his parents. "I'll just—" he broke off, and nodded towards the stairs to the lab, indicating they should go upstairs. "Yeah?"

Though still lost in confusion, Jack granted him a nod and a small smile, something like an apologetic pride in his eyes. "Sure, Danny-boy."

* * *

A few minutes later, when the lab had been picked up and a fresh pot of coffee had been brewed, Danny emerged from the staircase with tired but grateful blue eyes, human and whole.

"She's asleep," he announced tiredly, sinking down to the edge of the chair across form the couch his parents sat on. He winced as he did so, shifting in his seat and moving his arm a little. Maddie raised her eyebrows at him, looking pointedly at the motion as she stood to examine him.

"Did you hurt your arm?" she asked, and he sighed, turning slightly to give her better access.

"Ah—I think it's just a dislocated shoulder. It's nothing."

Maddie frowned at him, the corners of her lips tightening. He never learns. It could be—it could be a fracture, or a break, or something worse. How could he be sure?

A moment of examining it further, and she sighed—he was right, of course. Dislocated. She glanced to Jack. "Honey, give me a hand?"

Jack nodded, kneeling next to them and placing a hand on Danny's elbow as she held his shoulders steady. "This is gonna hurt a bit, kiddo," he warned, and Danny winced, nodding. "One, two—"

 _Pop!_

Danny barely made a sound as his shoulder relocated, popping into place. A small hiss of breath and closed eyes were the only indication of any pain. A second later, he opened his eyes and lifted his shoulder a little, rolling it back, shaking it out.

"Thanks," he sighed, and nodded, smiling a little. "Feels a lot better. And, uh—" he broke off, suddenly. He swallowed. "Thank you for helping Danielle. I—I know I owe you guys an explanation, and I promise I will explain everything, I just… there was never a good time to bring it up, and when she went down out there tonight, I didn't know where else to take her."

Jack let his hand drop to his son's knee, assuring. Comforting. "We're glad you came to us, son."

Danny watched him for a second, as if gauging his honesty, before dropping his gaze slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching into what could be the ghost of a smile. "I, um…" He lifted a hand to rub at the back of his neck. "I guess you guys probably have a lot of questions."

Maddie, content Danny wasn't more hurt than his shoulder, heaved a sigh and stood again, returning to sit on the couch. She exchanged a look with her husband, who leaned on the arm of the chair Danny was sitting on, hand still on his knee. "You could say that, yeah," she agreed, and nodded as she brought her gaze back to her son.

Jack's eyebrows drew together a little, giving Danny's knee a small squeeze before returning to sit next to Maddie with a long exhale. "She's… a half-ghost?" he guessed, resting his elbows on his knees. "Like you?"

Danny's jaw tightened a little bit—just enough tension in it to be noticeable to his parents. Maddie wasn't sure _what_ was going on, but it gave her a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach. "Yeah," he said lowly, after a moment, and gave a short nod. "Just like me."

It took Maddie a moment to decode that _look_ in Danny's blue eyes—a different, rare _hardness_ in them, eyebrows lowered to shadow his eyes. An _anger_ that Maddie was sure she'd never seen her boy wear before. She shook her head, at a loss for words. "Danny, sweetheart, just—just tell us what's going on. Who is she? Why does she—" _Why does she look exactly like you?_ The question didn't need to be spoken.

Danny's gaze found his father's, and some of the steeliness in it gave way to what could only be described as reluctance. Sympathy. And an apology, all rolled into one. "I didn't… I didn't tell you guys everything Vlad's done," he admitted and shook his head. "I know I should've, and I'm really sorry I didn't, I just—you were _friends_ with him, Dad, and I know how hard it was to find out everything he's done." He winced. "What he _is."_ His voice wavered slightly. "I didn't want to ruin your memory of your friend any more than I already had."

Jack blinked at his son, before shaking his head slowly. There was a guarded look in his eyes. Closed off. Hard. "Son, you didn't ruin my memory of my friend," he told him steadily. "Vladdie did that all on his own."

Danny swallowed, and dropped his gaze, down to his fingers. He picked at his nails and cleared his throat. Eyebrows drew together. "He—I told you guys how he… wanted me," he began, and his voice was still low. "He wanted me to… go with him, I guess. Live with him. Be his, I don't know—surrogate son, or something. Because we're both—because we're the _same."_

Maddie felt her expression harden, and she shook her head adamantly. "Being half-ghost is the only thing you have in common with that creep, Danny," she stated. "You are nothing like him. You're not the _same."_

Danny's frown, though, only seemed to deepen at the words of reassurance. "It doesn't matter," he mumbled, and shook his head. "I mean, I never—I never wanted that, you know. To go with him. And I told him that." He paused, his fingers finally stilling. "For a while he didn't seem to grasp that—that I didn't want anything to do with him. But once he did, he—he…"

There was another pause of silence, and Maddie's heart raced in her throat, in her ears. What could have happened that had caused him so much pain he could hardly say it out loud?

Danny swallowed again. "He tried to build his own perfect halfa son." To Maddie's surprise, then, and to her horror, Danny barked out a bitter laugh, looking up at them again, finally. "He used my DNA to try and _clone_ me, so that he'd have a son like him, a sidekick to control, since I wouldn't go with him—he tried to make his own me."

Maddie's throat closed, tightening to the point where she couldn't breathe. Next to her, Jack's hands tightened into fists on his knees, knuckles white. He, too, stayed dead silent.

"The clones, they—they weren't stable," Danny continued, shaking his head. "And there was something… I don't know, _wrong,_ with all of them. They were mindless, you know? Like animals. And they were fragile. If they used too much power, or got hit too hard, they'd start just… destabilizing. Melting down into puddles of ectoplasm. It was awful." His voice broke on the last word, and again, he paused. "She was the only one who was… I don't know. Sentient. Real. An actual person."

Maddie and Jack, shocked, horrified, stayed silent.

The raven-haired teen cleared his throat. "Vlad captured me," he continued on, and his voice was steadier—like he'd steeled his resolve, like he'd compartmentalized what happened. "Said he needed a mid-morph DNA sample to stabilize his clones, or else they'd all just melt into nothing. He used her as a pawn in the whole thing—he never planned on stabilizing her, she was just the only one strong enough to do anything without destabilizing entirely. He was ready to let her melt down to a pile of goo as soon as he got what he wanted."

There was another slight pause. After a moment, Jack swallowed audibly. "So—so that little girl sleeping upstairs is… she's your…?"

Danny's jaw tightened a little, again, his eyes steady. "She's her own person," he told them, and there was so much _adamancy_ in his suddenly steady voice that Maddie didn't question it for a second. "And she's strong and she's caring and she's a little headstrong sometimes and a little impulsive, but she is completely her own person." He hesitated, and tilted his head in a reluctant nod. "But… technically, and—and _genetically_ speaking, I guess, yeah. Danielle's my clone."

Maddie swallowed shakily. "What—what happened to the other clones?"

Danny winced. "Destabilized. Vlad was never able to get a mid-morph DNA sample from me, so he was never able to stabilize them."

Maddie nodded, though her eyes stung. "And… Danielle? She's—is she stabilized?"

He worried his lower lip for a moment before responding, with a slight shrug. "I thought so. The last time I ran into her she wasn't doing too hot, but I used the prototype Ecto-Dejecto on her and it seemed to stabilize her. That's why I was so worried when she collapsed earlier. I was scared she was starting to destabilize again. But she—she seems okay, thanks to you guys." He offered them another smile, then, and there was so much gratefulness in it that Maddie's eyes nearly blurred. "So, yeah—thank you. Really."

Maddie brought a hand to her mouth, at a loss for words. Her heart was breaking for her son—for _Danielle._ She shook her head. "Danny, she's not—she's not still with Vlad, is she? She's not staying at his mansion alone?"

"No," he assured her quickly, shaking his head, "God, no. I got her out of there as soon as I could. But she's…" he trailed off, eyebrows drawing together a little bit more. "She doesn't really have anyone, you know? The closest thing she ever had to parents was Vlad, and there's no way he counts. She says that she likes freewheeling it, and I think to some level she does. I think traveling all over makes her feel less… tied down, maybe, to where she came from—why she exists. I just worry about her. And maybe it's stupid, but I sort of feel… responsible for her, I guess. I wasn't even expecting to see her tonight, she just kind of showed up, and joined me on patrol, and then Walker showed up with his guards and we were fighting him and everything just sort of," he gestured helplessly with his hands, "fell apart."

Maddie and Jack exchanged glances with one another. One of the benefits of being married for so long, Maddie supposed, of having the same obsessions, of having the same hobbies, of being so in tune with each other being on the same frequency at almost any given point in time, was being able to have an entire conversation with just a single glance.

Maddie gave Jack a nod, and he looked back to his son. "Well, then—she can stay here."

Danny, clearly not following the silent conversation that just occurred, simply blinked at them. "Uh—what?"

Jack smiled a little, and it reached his eyes. "Well, we're not about to just let her go flying around the world alone, Danny-my-boy. Not if there's a chance she's not stable enough to handle it, at least."

"We can take care of her here," Maddie continued on, nodding in agreement with her husband. "We can watch her health and try and figure out what's going on and see if we can help fix it. Once she's stable, it's her own decision whether she wants to stay, or not, but… well, she's important to you. Our home is always going to be open for her, sweetheart."

"Really?"

The voice didn't come from any of the three—instead, it was a smaller voice, from the stairs. They all glanced over, almost in sync, and found Danielle. Standing about halfway up the staircase, hand tight on the railing, face too-pale and lids heavy, but honesty and disbelief in her voice.

"Elle, sweetie," Maddie disapproved, rising from her seat automatically to help the young girl down the rest of the stairs. "We thought you were sleeping—you really ought to be resting."

Smiling a little as she sank into Maddie's abandoned seat on the couch, she nodded her thanks for the assist. "I pretended to sleep so Danny would stop worrying," she admitted, cutting a glance towards her cousin. "Sorry. I know I shouldn't be eaves dropping, I just—" she broke off, wincing slightly. "I felt bad for dropping the bomb on your parents like this. I kind of assumed you hadn't told them about, well—me, I guess, yet."

Danny narrowed his eyes a little at the girl, before shaking his head. There was no heat in his eyes when he chastised her, "You should be sleeping, you brat."

Despite everything, she grinned at him, then. And it was a _familiar_ expression, and her blue eyes were _open_ and _honest_ and _trusting_ and Maddie knew right then and there that Danny was right, and she was her own person, and she already had a grip on Maddie's racing heart that she wasn't sure was ever going to loosen. "Well, I did learn from the best," Elle joked easily.

Danny returned the grin with one of his own, and it was a mirror of hers, but also different in an important and real way. "I'm glad you're feeling better," he said honestly, and Elle nodded.

"Those ecto-vitamins really do the trick, don't they?" she agreed, and looked at Jack and Maddie, a smile still touching her lips. "Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Fenton. For helping me." She hesitated, then, and the smile faded a little more, into something like apprehension. She looked between them and Danny. "Did you guys—did you really mean all that?"

Jack smiled at her a little. "Course we did, kiddo. We want to help you, if you'll let us."

The corner of Elle's mouth quirked up again. "I'd—yeah. I'd like that."

Maddie squeezed her shoulder a little. "Why don't we go in the kitchen, get you some water? Then—you know, you really should be resting."

Elle dropped her head dutifully, but the smile still touched her lips. "Yeah—yeah, okay."

Maddie smiled too, helping Elle to her feet and putting an arm around her waist to support her weight as she brought the young girl towards the kitchen. Before crossing out of the room, though, she cast a glance over her shoulder to regard her son. Words didn't seem to be able to form on her lips, but she blinked and nodded at him, seeming heartbroken and something else that Danny couldn't decipher entirely as she smiled a wobbly, appreciative smile at him.

He returned the nod and the smile, and the two disappeared into the next room.

Danny felt a hand on his shoulder, then, and tilted his head to look up at his enormous father. His eyes were tired and sad and happy all at the same time. "I'm…" he began, and shook his head, kneeling down to be on the same level as his son. "I'm so sorry, son," he continued. "Sitting on all of that all this time—I can't even imagine…"

Danny offered him a small smile, a shrug, eyebrows drawn together as his gaze drifted to the now-empty doorway. "It's okay, Dad," he said solemnly, honestly. "I'm just glad she's okay. And—" his gaze cut back to his father's, "and I'm sorry I didn't tell you guys sooner. I didn't really know how. Wasn't really sure if there was ever a right time to spring a _clone_ on you guys, on top of everything else."

Jack squeezed his shoulder. "We get it, Danny-boy." He paused. "You know Mom and I are proud of you, don't you, son?" As if an automatic response, Danny rolled his eyes, and Jack shook his head. "No, really, kiddo—I mean it. Not just about everything you've been doing, but for looking out for her. That's a really _good_ thing you're doing. And we're proud of you."

Danny, more sincere this time, smiled a little sheepishly, a little shyly. A soft blush crept up his neck, but he held onto the feeling, onto his father's words. "Thanks, Dad."

* * *

It took them only a few days to figure out what was wrong with Elle. A new regimen of Fenton Ghost-Vites (patent pending) juiced up with a little phase 1 Ecto-Dejecto, and she was feeling good as new in no time. Only slightly different from the ones they concocted for Danny to take, they had a few months' supply done within a few weeks, handing them over to her almost reluctantly, knowing that their time with her staying with them was growing short.

But the moment they handed them to her, she frowned slightly and looked up at them, confused. "Why are you giving me these? Shouldn't I keep them in the medicine cabinet, with Danny's?"

And Maddie's heart leaped in joy.

And Jack's hand tightened on his wife's shoulders in budding elation.

And Danny's mouth stretched into a grin. "Does that mean you're staying?" he inquired, breaking the silence.

Three months and some forged documentation later, she was enrolling at Casper High as Elle Fenton, freshman, the adoption approved and finally, _finally_ having a family to call her home.

* * *

 **A/N:** OKAY SO. I've been sitting pretty on this one for a while, waiting until just the right time to post it to the series because I kind of love this one a lot? And I was planning on waiting this one out a while, until I started to run out of ideas and one-shots and my muse did The Thing where it decides to leave me hanging high and dry for months at a time. That being said, a guest reviewer (shoutout to you, whoever you are), made a request for a Dani adoption chapter and I had this ready to go and I guess it was just the nudge that I needed to break me down and make me cave. And I know I said I was going to space out my updates for this series, but hey, when destiny comes a'knockin...

TL;DR: I'm horrible at pacing myself and this happened ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ ah, well, what can you do.


	12. Outside of Time Pt II

**A/N:** A continuation of Chapter 4 (Outside of Time, Pt. I)

* * *

The phone was gripped so tightly in Jack's hand, he was surprised it didn't break. "Danny—" he started, his voice tight and his throat closing. "Please, uh… Please be careful." The words, he knew, would fall on deaf ears; it's become a standard part of their conversations, as ordinary and commonplace, as _habitual,_ as asking how school was when he finally ventures home and drops his backpack on the chair by the door.

But somehow, this was different. Jack knew it. Danny knew it.

Jack swallowed, nodding to himself as he forced his voice to work. "Okay?"

There was a slight pause, just the smallest catch of Danny's breath on the other line, before his son responded. "Always am, Dad," he said, and his voice was wry and full of false confidence, but there was something _shaken_ underneath it that Jack caught onto immediately because, well, ever since coming clean back in Antarctica that kid's been as transparent as a plastic bag when it came to lying to his parents, and they all damn well knew it. "Don't worry," he continued on, nevertheless, and Jack's gaze found Maddie's across the kitchen, who was watching him with wide, anxious eyes of her own. "It'll be fine. Piece of cake, really."

Jack nodded, still holding Maddie's gaze as he did. "I'll—I'll tell Mom and call you on the way to get Jazz," he agreed, and, God bless that woman, Maddie caught on enough to spring into action, gathering the keys to the GAV, a first aid kit from under the sink, and a few ecto-guns from the pantry. "Channel 18?"

A hesitation, and Jack swore, his heart was hammering in his ears hard enough for the both of them. "Channel 18."

And the line went dead.

It was as if he was frozen in place, and for a moment, he made not a word, not a sound. What could have… what could have _shaken_ him so much? What was going on? What kind of monster was released bad enough to issue a Threat Level Ten warning out to the city?

When Maddie returned to his side, pressing the GAV keys into his hands, Jack blinked himself out of his reverie, hanging the phone back on the hook. He blinked down at his wife and took the keys from her.

Maddie's countenance was remarkably calm. Must be the scientist in her, Jack thought, as she turned to retrieve the duffel bag of things she'd put together for him, handing it to him by the long strap. She held his gaze, the perfect picture of _not panicking._ "What threat level?" was all she said, and Jack took the strap of the bag into his shaking hands.

He swallowed. "Ten."

Maddie nodded. "I take it that it showed up at the school?"

Jack, mirroring Maddie, gave her a nod.

"What does he want us to do?"

Jack let out a breath through his nose. "I'm gonna go pick up Jazzy-pants from school—he wants you to put up the ghost shields around town," he filled her in. "And he said to use the strongest ones we have."

That, though, made Maddie's expression falter slightly. Jaw tightening just a little, as she took a small breath, her chin shivered gently. "Is he—he won't be able to get in, once they're up. He knows that, right?"

Jack nodded, trying to file away every important piece of information he'd just learned. Trying to compartmentalize. It wasn't as easy as it used to be, knowing his son's life (half-life?) was in near-constant danger, these days. "He knows," he affirmed, and turned to rummage through one of the kitchen drawers. He pulled out two, small comm units and handed one to Maddie. "Put that on Channel 18. I'll call once I get on the road."

He turned to leave, but she caught his elbow as he did, her hand small on his arm but with a grip like iron. "Jack," she got out, and her voice warbled, finally giving way to that same type of terror that Jack felt aching in his bones. " _Where is Danny now?"_

And before he had the chance to open his mouth and offer a feeble and unhelpful _I don't know,_ a flash of glowing black and white streaked through the front door intangibly, not sparing them a second of time before shooting through the floor below their feet. No stopping, no hesitation, no explanation. Merely a streak of unnatural light and a sudden chill that seemed to come out of nowhere. The parents' gazes found each other, and it was as if invisible hands held them frozen for a moment. A beat of silence passed. What felt like an eternity later, they finally sprang into action, turning in sync and bolting for the door downstairs.

By the time they made their way down to the lab, the heavy metal doors to the Ghost Portal were already slamming shut in Danny's wake.

* * *

It wasn't ten seconds after Danny disappeared that the ghost shield shimmered into visibility outside, green and unnatural and daunting, glowing slightly with its anti-ecto properties yet somehow familiar and comforting. The brief sense of relief that accompanied the stabilized shield soon vanished – and, as if its manifestation were some kind of signal from hell, chaos erupted in the classroom.

Tucker and Sam were trapped, classmates surrounding them, demanding answers about what was going on. Tucker had grabbed Sam's arm in distress, but Sam gave him a pointed look that clearly said _Not a word, Foley._

At the front of the room, Mr. Lancer had given up trying to maintain order, and instead was holding the emergency ghost-talkie up to his ear – something all teachers were required to carry with them at all times, as of this academic year – his other hand pressing tightly over his opposite ear, trying to block out the sounds of the students.

With determination, Sam grabbed hold of Tucker's arm and pulled him towards the exit of the classroom. The students had become less demanding, as their temporary adrenaline fueled irritation and anger gave way to confusion and fear. Sam paused just at the door, turning back to try and catch Lancer's eye.

When he finally looked their way, his brow was set and determined and he was speaking almost calmly into the talkie – he, like many others have adapted to become, was staying calm in the face of disaster. Sam saw through the signs, though, of course. There were beads of sweat on his forehead, his fingers were white-knuckled around the talkie, and he was leaning forward onto his desk, supporting himself with his free hand as if he wasn't sure he could stay upright on his own. He was scared – terrified, even. He was perceptive. He would've notices the matching emblems on Danny's chest and _his_ chest – would have noticed the pattern of language when they spoke to each other, noticed how they had this intricate, personal _knowledge_ of each other so intense that it was clear they'd known each other for a very, very long time. He would've noticed the waves of hatred rolling off of Danny so hard that the room had become _cold,_ icy with a hollowing, deadly fury that Danny clearly felt so strongly he subconsciously emitted from his very aura. He was perceptive. He could probably put two and two together.

Still, Lancer didn't break his line of communication over the talkie, didn't hesitate to lock eyes with Sam, her hand still frozen on the door handle, and give her a very clear, very precise nod of permission.

It was something they'd compromised on – the trio and the school board. Once everything was out in the open, the school assumed their—especially Danny's—poor attendance record and semi-regular disappearing from class had to do with ghost hunting. At first, they thought the school would get mad at them about it, that they'd be in trouble for ditching class to go risk their lives. And they were, at first – the school board said how they involved themselves in something that they shouldn't have, that they weren't going to allow it to happen any longer, and that they should leave it to the professionals.

Danny, who was still working through the fact that the entire world now knew that he was essentially half dead, had spoken up then, hesitantly but confidently. "I don't mean to be disrespectful or anything, really, but when it comes to fighting ghosts…" he trailed off, shrugging a little generically. "We sort of _are_ the professionals. As close to professionals as there can ever be, at least."

One of the board members – a benefactor of sorts that only ever showed her face in cases of extreme need – had arched a perfectly made-up eyebrow at him. "Are you implying that the professional ghost hunters out there are incompetent? Like your own parents?"

A smile had flickered on Danny's face for a moment. "I mean, don't get me wrong, they're great in the lab and probably the two most intelligent people I know. But, ah – ghost _hunting_?" He shook his head, but there was a fondness in it. "I mean, it's not exactly their forte. They didn't even put together that their number one target was living under their own roof."

And that was pretty much the end of that. The school board had been significantly more lenient with them than they'd ever expected them to be, with one main, emphasized condition: if they needed to be dismissed, if they needed to _leave,_ at least one faculty member had to grant permission or, at the very least, be alerted to the fact that they were leaving. It was a small price to pay.

Sam, still gripping onto Tucker's elbow, returned Mr. Lancer's nod with one of her own before pushing the classroom door open and pushing herself and Tucker into the frantic crowds in the hallways.

She knew what was happening, of course—students were being herded from their classrooms to the gym, which was specially equipped with anti-ecto defense modules as well as the ghost shield. But the sheer volume of people moving made it hard to orient themselves—it was like walking head first into a gushing river, white water rapids and all. Before they knew what was happening, Sam lost her grip on Tucker's arm, and they were swept up with the tide.

She tried calling for Tucker, but it was pointless, her voice drowned out in the commotion. She grit her teeth, trying to find him again, but there were people on every side of her, pushing, yelling, crying, shoving their way to what they were _foolish_ enough to believe was safety.

But Sam knew better than that. When it came to Dan, she wasn't sure _anyplace_ was safe.

Suddenly, an arm hooked around her waist and pulled her away from the hordes of scrambling people into a smaller, less populated side hallway. Immediately, instincts kicked in, and before she could process the face, the hat, the glasses, Tucker had fallen down to the floor choking, coughing relentlessly as he tried to catch his breath.

Sam's eyes widened, fist lowering immediately as she reached down to help him up. "Sorry, sorry, Tucker—are you okay?" she called over the commotion. Away from the mass of people, now, she was beginning to hear herself think again.

Coughing and covering his mouth with one elbow, he accepted her help with his free hand, pulling himself back to his feet. "Mm," he got out weakly, between hacks, "stellar. You know—" he broke off, coughing again. "You know," he repeated, clearing his throat, "that would've been pretty awesome if I wasn't on the receiving end of it." Coughing a few more times, he seemed to catch his breath enough to talk again. "I mean, jeez, Sam—a punch to the throat with that much anger behind it? Where've you been hiding that?"

Sam smirked, glancing back out into the crowds of people. It was beginning to thin out, the majority of the people making it into the gym, or at least coming close. "I like to save it for special occasions," she replied off-handedly. "We need to get out of here."

"I'll say," Tucker agreed, and stood at her shoulder, squinting out into the hallway, scanning the crowd. "There is one person we ought to find, though, before we do."

Sam nodded. She'd been thinking the same thing. "Yeah, Valerie would want to know—but there's no way we can find her—" She broke off, eating her own words as she spotted a head of curly brown hair and a signature yellow shirt. "—in this," she finished lamely, and shot a glare at Tucker, who'd raised an eyebrow at her. "Shut up, Tucker."

He shrugged innocently. "I didn't say anything."

Moving a bit slower through the crowd than the rest of the people gathered, it didn't take them long to catch Valerie's attention from off to the side. And when they did—man, for once, they were pretty darned glad Danny wasn't around.

Fists tight at her sides, Val bypassed any semblance of a greeting by making a sound in the back of her throat that could only be described as a _growl_ as she joined them in the shadows of the side hallway. "I have had it up to _here_ with these damn _ghosts!_ " she ground out through her teeth.

Tucker winced a little, holding up his hands as if to calm her. "Look, we understand—" he began, but when Val cut him a glare that could kill, he lowered his hands back to his sides. "Look, we know you're trying to be done with all the ghost stuff, you know, start a new chapter before college and all that, but we could _really_ use your help. Danny could really use your help."

Though her eyes stayed alight with annoyance and frustration, a little bit of the anger seemed to physically deflate out of her, jaw unclenching slightly. "Is he okay?"

"If he is, he probably won't be for long," Sam told her, and the weight of the _honesty_ in her voice hung in the air around them. "He needs our help."

"Help with _what_ though?" Valerie asked, shaking her head as she glanced between the two. "Guys, what the _hell_ is going on here?"

Tucker and Sam exchanged glances, an entire conversation passing between them in the blink of an eye. Tucker looked back to the huntress, shrugging a little as his face twisted into a grimace. "Long story short? There was an alternate timeline where a bad choice Danny made led to his entire family—and us—being killed? So he basically had the humanity ripped out of him to stop the pain of it, and his ghost side killed his human side and then ripped the ghost out of Vlad? And Danny's ghost half merged with Vlad's ghost half and became one of the worst ghosts in the world and ended up essentially destroying the free world as we know it."

Valerie blinked at him. Slowly, almost _painfully_ slowly, her eyebrows began to draw together. "So Danny… killed… _humanity—"_ She broke off, the fragments of the story coming together with a wince. "He… _what?"_

Sam grit her teeth. They didn't have _time_ to go over this right now. She shook her head. "Look. We stopped him—Danny stopped him. Trapped him in a Thermos that Clockwork promised to guard, then we went back in time and Danny didn't make the same decision he made the first time around, and that timeline, that _world_ that he created before doesn't exist anymore. Be he does. Dan _does._ And he got out. We don't know how, but he did. And he's here. And he's threatening to kill Danny's family unless he gets him the ring and crown of Pariah Dark within the next three days."

 _That_ sure snapped the huntress out of it. She shook her head, resolve visibly hardening. "Absolutely not. We can't let some ghost get his hands on those, especially if he's as terrible as you say he is. And we definitely can't let him _kill_ anyone. We have to stop him."

Tucker made a small gesture with his hands, like: _well,_ duh.

"And that's where I come in," she continued, and gave them a small nod. "I see." She paused for a moment, a wave of indecipherable _something_ passing over her face. Again, her eyebrows drew together slightly. "Where's Danny now?" she asked. "Is he okay?"

Sam sighed, shrugging helplessly. By now, the hallway was practically empty. "I assume he's going to the Ghost Zone to find Clockwork—we need to figure out what's going on, how he got out in the first place. We have to go help him."

"What you _need,"_ a nasally voice interrupted them, and suddenly a figure was there, looming over them from the entrance of the side hallway, casting a long shadow over them, "is to _get to the auditorium immediately._ Don't you kids hear the alarms blaring?"

Caught, flinching, the trio emerged from the hallway to regard the teacher wearily. Tall and lanky, as unintimidating as a man could ever be _,_ Mr. Martin wasn't exactly a steel wall of an obstacle to get through. Still, he was their teacher, and even after that flicker of recognition passed over his features as they emerged from the shadows, he recovered from it quickly and hardened his own resolve, the corner of his moustache twitching slightly. "Alright, you three, get a move on! The school's on lockdown until further notice, all students need to report to the gym! Go!"

Tucker looked at Sam and, again, a silent conversation passed between the two. He looked back to the teacher. "Mr. Martin, we need to go, our friend needs _help—"_

"Mr. Foley," the spectacled teacher cut him off, turning them by the shoulders and beginning to urge them down the hallway in the direction of the gymnasium, "I'm well aware that you and Miss Manson have a knack for getting involved in this sort of thing, but I'm going to have to insist. It's far too dangerous for me to allow you to get involved. Mr. Fenton—"

"Needs our help," Sam ground out, digging her heels into the floor to stop her momentum. "We know what we're doing—we've been at it a lot longer than even the Guys in White. You have to let us go."

At the end of the day, they had to give Mr. Martin credit for looking genuinely apologetic when he said, "I'm sorry, but the school is on lockdown. With a Threat Level 10, we can't risk it. I'm sure Mr. Fenton can handle it, whatever it is."

Something like white hot fury nearly blinded Sam, then. How still, after years have passed, people could still be this inconsiderate was beyond her. How they could take such advantage over Danny's stupid _altruism,_ like he had the _obligation_ to do the things that he does, like he was just some newspaper headline instead of a person, a _human,_ who bleeds and hurts and aches every day of his life for the sake of the lives of the people around him. Danny would jump in front of a train sans intangibility powers and supernatural healing is it meant saving people's lives—and people _still_ take advantage of that. It infuriates her.

"Don't worry," Tucker whispered in her ear as they reached the stairs leading into the gymnasium, the volume once again increasing as they joined hordes of people once more. "We'll find a way out. So many students, they can't possibly keep an eye on everyone."

"We're not exactly _everyone,_ Tuck," she pointed out bitterly, already noting the eyes that followed them as they, once more, retreated to the outskirts of the crowd. Where it was quieter. "We're Danny's best friends. They know how involved we are – they know nine times out of ten we're out there fighting alongside him. Something this big, if they don't want us getting involved, they're going to keep eyes on us at all times."

Valerie smirked, tapping something on the watch she wore on her left wrist. "Don't worry," she assured them, and part of the armour that is so in tuned to her mind, to her body, seemed to unfurl around her hand like a glove. Pink sparks danced in her palm, away from curious eyes, and Val raised an eyebrow at the pair. "I have a plan to get us out of here."

"And then we'll find Danny?"

The huntress nodded. "And then we'll find Danny," she agreed, and her eyes were sincere and her words were a little sad. "Wherever he is. That boy needs us."

* * *

He could _feel_ the fury radiating off his body as he flew. It was similar to how his aura takes on a blueish tint sometimes when he uses his ice powers—it was as if his anger turned his aura a pulsing, charged green. Like at any moment, it was going to explode out of him and destroy everything in his path.

He tried to clear his mind, keeping it blank as he flew. He didn't spare the islands and doors he'd passed even the crumbs of a thought; in fact, he purposefully tried blanking as much of it out as he could. He didn't want to think about other ghosts right now. He couldn't think about other ghosts right now. Because there was one ghost, only one ghost that mattered to him in that instant—and _he had created him_. That was the real stinger, when he got down to it.

He shot through the Zone like a bullet from a gun, refusing to let the fury and dread and guilt crush his chest and leave him staggering. He'd be no use to anyone if he gave in to those emotions, those feelings; giving in to them would guarantee the world would crash down around him, and that was something he couldn't afford to let happen. People's _lives_ depended on him staying focused, not letting him slip through the cracks.

He just needed to get there. He needed to go. He pushed himself, flying faster.

But that momentum stopped suddenly as soon as Clockwork's tower came into view. Coming to a screeching halt, it took Danny a moment to process the scene in front of him. Rubble and concrete was all that remained of the ghost of time's home, the building itself reduced to nothing more than a single, crumbling brick wall, every monitor and gear and machine vanished into thin air. No sign of Clockwork anywhere. Scattered among the debris, small metallic silver-and-green shards sprinkled along the ground.

Danny was willing to bet it was the shattered Fenton Thermos.

All of that, though, seemed small in comparison to what he noticed next. Laying in front of it all, in front of the rubble and the brick and the dust and debris, a staff laid broken in two. Splintered and broken and burnt. Next to it, a small medallion in the shape of a gear was bent out of shape, the ribbon it hung from frayed and tattered.

Destroyed. It had all been destroyed.

* * *

 **A/N:** Okay so I know this is supposed to be a series of one-shots, and it will continue to be, HOWEVER I will take this oppotunity to say that I've decided to continue on the Outside of Time (Chapter 4) thing at least a little bit! There's a lot of it I haven't exactly worked out yet, but I got a TON of reviews asking for this to be made into something larger, potentially it's own story, which is something I'm considering doing. Until I finalize that decision, though, it'll be added into the Post-PP One Shot(s) story in no particular order, but will be specified in the chapter title.

On another note, I've officially completed my first year of college (wooohoo) and now that I'm not drowning in assignments and stress and finals I'll be able to update more for both this and Easy Target. Sorry for being a bit MIA! There should be a couple of updates for each story coming out within the next two weeks or so.

Hope y'all are still here! As always, reviews are always welcome and I love feedback!


	13. Caged

"It wasn't supposed to be this way." Danny shifted a little, the toes on his left foot sticking slightly out between the bars of the cage he was currently confined in. The bars glowed slightly, a just noticeable green tint that came with its anti-ghost properties. It was small, but not stiflingly so—too small to stand up straight inside, but large enough to sit on the floor of it with a little room to adjust. "You know that, right? None of this was supposed to be this way, it wasn't supposed to happen like this."

Across from him, the huntress scoffed. "What, so you _didn't_ mean to get us captured and held hostage? By the _Box Ghost,_ of all people?"

Danny rolled his eyes, scooting closer to the edge of his cage to try and get closer to Valerie. "Well that, yeah – but also the other stuff."

"Other stuff?"

Danny shrugged. "Yeah. You know – secret stuff, ghost stuff."

Valerie arched an eyebrow at him, though there was less amusement in it than Danny had hoped for. "Oh, you mean you didn't mean to lie to me for two years about who you were and only clue me in when you decided to let the rest of the world know? As if I hadn't known you for years – as if we hadn't dated, as if I hadn't trusted you?"

Danny winced, nodding. "Yeah, that, uh—that would be the stuff I'm referring to, yeah."

Valerie's mouth tightened into a thin line, and she turned her face away, shifting in her cage so she was leaning against the bars, back towards Danny. She shook her head slightly, but didn't say a word.

Danny hesitated, running a hand through his white hair before letting it rest nervously on the back of his neck. "For what it's worth, I never…" He trailed off, and rubbed at his neck. "I hated lying to you," he began again. "There were so many times I almost told you."

"When?" she scoffed, sharp, cool. "When I was dating one half of you and hunting the other? When you lost my dad his job? When I had you shackled up and _tortured_ you with an electric ecto-prod?"

Danny blinked. Shifting, turning more towards her, he drew his legs in close so not to touch the glowing bars. Even though he avoided direct contact with them, their anti-ghost properties buzzed in the air surrounding him, like static. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. It was unnerving. Settling into a cross-legged position, he felt something tighten in his throat. "Is that what this is about?" he asked finally, and his quiet question must've startled her or something, because she turned towards him, blinking wide eyes.

They held each other's gazes for a moment. Mask and helmet removed, there was nothing blocking her deep chestnut eyes from boring into his own toxic green ones. A beat of silence, of some weird, intangible _vulnerability_ passed between the two, before Valerie's jaw tightened once more and she averted her gaze.

"I could've really hurt you."

A corner of his mouth flickered, that tightness in his throat never wavering. "But you didn't."

"But I wanted to."

He took a chance, allowing himself an apologetic smile. "That's not really your fault, Val."

"Don't call me that," she snapped, and the smile dropped from his face in an instant. "We're not _friends,_ okay, I trusted you, and you betrayed me. You're a ghost, and you're a liar, and you're most definitely not my friend."

Danny took in an unnecessary breath and let it out, trying not to let the sting of her words get to him. She did have a point, after all. His hands shook as he tightened them against his bent knees. He couldn't tell if it was nerves getting to him, or the cage, but his muscles felt weak. Twitchy. Like they wouldn't be able to support any weight. "That's fair," he conceded, granting her a small nod. His voice was honest and maybe a little sad, and the huntress lifted her eyes to him once more. "I mean—you're not wrong. I _am_ a ghost, and I did lie to you. And I'm sorry."

He didn't miss the way her fingers curled, as if clawing into the floor of her cage she sat on. "It doesn't matter."

"It—it does matter, Valerie," Danny protested gently, and shook his head. "You have every right to be upset with me. I get it."

Her nostrils flared a little, and she swiped a stray strand of dark, curly hair off her face. "I honestly don't think you do," she responded, short, succinct. "You've known it was me this whole time. This _whole_ time. I trusted you, and you made a complete fool out of me. I feel like a complete idiot."

Guilt tightening in his chest, Danny took another shaking, unnecessary breath. Of course, that was never what he wanted—he never wanted Valerie to feel _less than_ because _he_ was keeping secrets. But… it made sense, when he thought about it. He knew it was her in or out of that mask—it was like there was an inside joke, and she was the punchline. She wasn't, of course. But Danny could see how she might feel like she was. A 1cruel, cruel joke. "You're not an idiot, and I think we both know that."

Her glare was venomous. "I _know_ I'm not," she cut back sharply, her voice icy. "And I hate you for making me feel like one. And I hate you for lying to me. And I hate you for getting us _trapped_ together like this because you wouldn't just let me _handle_ the situation at the school."

Danny blinked at her. "I was trying to help you," he reminded her honestly. "My secret might be blown to the world, but yours doesn't have to be. Not like that. Not by the _Box Ghost._ "

Valerie grit her teeth. "I told you to leave it alone, that I had it handled."

"Val, you were nearly unconscious—I had to do something."

"I told you to stop _calling_ me that." She ran a hand through her hair in frustration and shook her head. "You just had to stick your big nose into my business. Again. I told you I didn't want help." A pause. "Especially not your help."

Again, Danny tried not to let the words get to him. Still, there was a bitter taste in the back of his throat, and he winced. "Because I'm a ghost?"

The huntress' eyes cut back to him quickly, her eyebrows drawing together as they did, as if he still didn't _understand._ "Because you're a _liar,_ " she corrected. "Because I trusted you, and you broke that. I _cared_ about you, you idiot—and I thought you cared about me too."

"I did care," he assured her quickly, then winced and backtracked. "Valerie, I—I _do_ care."

She nodded. "Right, yeah, of course—you always lie to people you care about?"

Danny sighed, tapping a thumb against his thigh. "I lied to everyone, not just you."

"That doesn't matter, Danny!" she shot back. "That's kind of the point! You didn't _trust_ me, okay? And that _hurts._ I'm hurt, Danny, and I'm upset, and I'm _angry_ at you. And it isn't something I can just… push away, alright, something I can just get over in a few days, I'm _sorry_ , but it isn't. So you're just going to have to deal with it."

Danny swallowed. He nodded. "Okay."

Valerie dropped her gaze to her hands, deflating back against the bars of her cage once more. "Okay."

Danny wasn't sure what to say. Or even if he _should_ say anything. He winced as he shifted positions in the cage, still sure not to touch the bars. His muscles ached, but the guilt coiled in his chest and the nausea churning in his stomach felt worse. It wasn't a psychical pain, but it was still staggering. A long stretch of silence passed between the two before Danny found himself speaking up again. "I was scared." His voice was honest and open, and when Valerie brought her gaze back to him, less icy than it had been, he offered her a small shrug. "I was scared," he repeated. "It's really the only excuse I have. You hated Phantom more than any other ghost out there, and we were _friends,_ and we dated for a while, and it was confusing, and I was scared. I was scared you hated Phantom more than you could ever like Fenton, and so… I lied." He paused. "And for the record, I never meant to tell you like that. Not just… alongside everyone else, like that."

The huntress' shoulders tightened, turning her back to him once more. Danny wished he could've seen her face—could've had something to go off of, some indication of what she was feeling, of the gears turning vigorously in her head. A few seconds passed in silence, and something sat heavy in his gut. He was about to accept a guilt-ridden defeat when she shook her head slightly. "You never meant to tell me, period," she replied, and while her voice wasn't raised, it was hard, clipped.

"That's not true," he insisted, and even he could hear the pleading note his own voice had taken on.

"It is true," she refuted him, shaking her head again, her brown curls waving with the motion. "How many times have we gone after each other? How many times have we fought each other—how many times have we fought _with_ each other? How could you not _tell_ me, Danny?"

Danny winced, dropping his gaze down to his gloved fingers. He felt his eyebrows draw together, that heavy weight in his gut only growing heavier. "I told you—I was scared."

"Yeah, scared I would hate you, right? That's your excuse? That justifies lying?"

Danny winced again, keeping his eyes averted. "No," he assured her, "no, it doesn't—a-and, I'm not _trying_ to, Valerie. I'm not trying to give you an excuse, or justify it. I'm just trying to explain. I'm trying to be _honest."_

Valerie snorted, and it was sharp and it was bitter. "Why start now?" she sneered, and the venom in it forced Danny to lift his gaze once more. In the cage across from him, the huntress finally turned back to him, lips tight. Again, her brown eyes bore deep into his toxic green ones. "I thought we were friends, Danny. But you… you _ruined_ everything."

A pause. Danny shifted on the floor, his muscles still tingling with pinpricks. "I've apologized for the dog thing," he pointed out quietly. "I told you he wasn't mine."

Still, she shook her head, some of the stoniness in her expression melting away to what Danny could only describe as exhaustion, as if the fact that's he's still not _getting_ something was physically draining the fight out of her. "God, Danny, that's not even—that's not the _point._ We've been in the same classes since the first grade—we were _friends,_ we were _more,_ and now I… I feel like I don't even know who you _are."_

Danny's breath hitched. His chest tightened. Before he realized what was happening, the familiar silver rings were passing over his body in a wave of cold, leaving him solid and human in the cage across from her.

The huntress' entire body stiffened once more, her breath catching sharply, but there was something far away in her eyes as she watched the transformation from ghost to human for only the second time. Sitting stark still, she took a shallow breath. "What are you doing?" she asked, and if Danny didn't know any better, he could've sworn there was a feebly-concealed warble in her voice.

Danny held her gaze steadily, trying to get the words through to her. "Val, you know who I am," he insisted, and his voice was low but insistent. Brimming with sincerity. "Next to Sam and Tuck, you probably know me better than _anyone_ , actually. I'm the same person I've always been."

"No, you're not."

" _Yes,_ I am," he insisted, and God, this girl was going to make him _beg,_ wasn't she? "Valerie, you—you _know_ me. I mean, come on, we had a _flour baby_ together. You can't just have a flour baby with someone and not _know_ them by the end of it."

His attempted humor fell flat, though, when Valerie's eyebrows just drew down, hardening her brow. She shook her head. "Not like that was real," she muttered, and her voice was angry in an almost sad way.

Danny raised an eyebrow at her. "Of course it wasn't real, Val. It was a sack of flour."

Valerie's jaw tightened. "Don't act like you don't know what I mean," she snapped, and any semblance of amusement had dropped flat off the halfa's face. "I'm not talking about the _flour baby,_ I'm talking about the—the…" But she trailed off, her words hanging in the air around them.

"The…?" Danny prompted her, after a moment of silence.

She shot him a glare. "I don't _know,_ the… everything else? The experience, the—the relationship? None of that was real."

For a few seconds, Danny simply blinked at her. "Is that… what you think?" he asked finally, frowning. "That it wasn't real? That I was, what—faking?"

"Weren't you?" Though she still held his gaze, her own eyes wavered. Just a little bit, just enough to be noticeable. "Wasn't that all _this_ ever was?" She gestured to him generically.

He looked down at himself. Jeans, with a small tear in the left knee and a few dried blood stains, brownish with flecks of dark green. A t-shirt with some grass stains. Sneakers, scuffed and dirty and worn. Nothing special. Ordinary. He looked back up to Valerie, raising his eyebrows. "All _what?"_

She gestured to him again, eyes frustrated. "You know— _this!_ The whole… Fenton, thing."

His eyebrows rose higher. "The _Fenton thing?"_ he repeated.

She made a noise akin to a frustrated growl. "The human charade!"

A chill went down his spine, nothing at all like the familiar, comforting chill of his core. It wasn't as if the insinuation was _unexpected,_ it was just… unnerving. The insinuation that he was… _wrong,_ somehow. Unnatural. Alien. Inhuman. He stiffened slightly, and cleared his throat. "Well, I'm human, so… not really a charade."

Valerie was stubborn, though—almost as stubborn as he was. She tightened her jaw. "You're a ghost."

Danny nodded. "I am. But I'm human too."

"You can't be both."

"I beg to differ."

She grit her teeth harder. "You can't be both," she repeated.

Danny gave her an imploring, knowing look. "Then what about Plasmius?" he asked. "Danielle?"

That made her freeze. She eyed him for a moment then, watching him wearily, before closing her eyes and shaking her head. "No. _No."_

Danny sighed, shoulders deflating. "Look. I wasn't—I wasn't _hiding_ behind Fenton. I mean, sure, in some cases it was easier, and safer _,_ to kind of… play the normal human who wasn't involved with ghosts in any way, but that doesn't mean that Danny Fenton was a _lie._ It's always been me. I've always been him."

Valerie brought her gloved hands up to the sides of her head, massaging her temples for a moment before letting her eyes open. The glow softly emitting from the cage melded together and reflected in her stormy hazel eyes. "But Phantom—"

"Is also me," he cut her off, but there was no harshness in his voice. "Valerie, you—you _know_ that." He shifted in his cage, again trying to move closer to her. "I've never meant to cause you, or anyone, any trouble," he said honestly, and shook his head. "All I've ever tried to do is help _._ You know that. We've fought together, we've helped each other. You trusted Phantom to be _good._ Nothing's changed, Valerie, it's still _me."_

Still, Valerie shook her head. "It was all a lie."

"It _wasn't,"_ he assured her, and put as much honesty into the words as he could. "I know I messed up, and I know lying to you about Phantom was a mistake, but that doesn't mean _everything_ was a lie. I care about you. Our friendship, our… partnership, _relationship,_ whatever you want to call it? It wasn't a lie, Valerie. It was real. It's _still_ real. And I can't stand the thought of you hating me forever because you don't believe that. Hate me for the dog thing, hate me for being a ghost, hate me for whatever you want—but don't hate me because you think you don't _know me._ Don't hate me because you think everything that's happened between us was a lie. Because it _wasn't._ You know Danny Fenton, and you know Danny Phantom, and you've known _me_ so much longer than my dumb secret's been out."

Valerie's lips tightened, and Danny could practically _see_ the gears turning in her head, the thoughts churning around like a thunderstorm behind her eyes. She shook her head slowly. "I don't hate you," she said in an uncharacteristically small voice, then. She let out a shallow breath, and spoke again. "I don't hate you, Danny."

The honesty, the sincerity in her voice pulled a corner of Danny's mouth into a half-smile. It was progress. "Uh, well—that's good, then. I don't hate you either."

"I'm mad at you." Her mouth twitched, and the optimist in Danny could see the ghost of something good in her eyes. "And I kind of hate that you didn't tell me," she admitted.

Danny allowed the small smile on his face to grow, just a little. "I kind of hate that I didn't tell you, too. And," he added, more earnest, now, more sincere, "for the record, I am really sorry I didn't. I should've. I was being an idiot."

Again, there was that _flicker_ in her eyes, and relief absolutely blossomed in Danny's chest because he could physically see himself getting through to her. Her head tilted a little bit to the side as she watched him, chewing on the inside of her lower lip. After a moment, she relented. "I guess I can't blame you for that," she continued. "Y'know. Being an idiot."

Danny felt his smile spread, still unsure, still nervous. "What can I say? It's a gift."

She raised her eyebrows, and there was that indescribable _something_ in her eyes, and Danny felt like flying. "Some gift," she remarked simply. Then, she shifted in her cage and her eyes narrowed slightly, her brow furrowing. "How does it work?"

"Being an idiot? Years of practice."

The huntress rolled her eyes. "No, dork, the—the…" she trailed off, gesturing at him generically. "You know. Ghost thing."

For a moment, Danny thought. Finally, he offered her a small shrug. "Just kinda… does, I guess. I don't really know how to explain it."

She snorted, shaking her head. "Cop out."

Returning her curious gaze, he quirked an eyebrow at her. A challenge. "How does your suit work?"

Her expression morphed into something else, something more weary than curious, something more cautious. "I'm… not sure," she admitted, and brushed a stray lock of hair off her face. "I guess it just…"

Danny's other eyebrow rose to join the first. "…kinda does?" he finished for her.

She watched him for a moment, eyes narrowed, before tilting her head into a slight nod. "Touche."

Danny allowed himself a small smile. "So," he exhaled, and glanced around. "Now that we've established we don't hate each other, how about we try and get out of these things?"

Valerie exhaled, glancing around as well, holding on to the bars of her cage as she looked. "There's gotta be _something_ we could use…"

Unfortunately, there wasn't much around them at all—they were hanging cages, from rafters high above their heads, in what appeared to be nothing more than a warehouse. Danny snorted. "Figures."

Valerie turned back to him, quirking an eyebrow. "What?"

Danny just shook his head, admiring the _blandness_ of it all. Boxes on boxes on boxes. "I just—I don't know why I'm surprised that _this_ is the Box Ghost's Earth lair. I mean—seriously. He's a ghost _obsessed with boxes._ I don't know why I expected more than a warehouse of boxes from him."

A smile seemed to twitch its way onto Valerie's lips, though she tried to repress it. "What I don't understand," she put in, "is how a ghost was able to set up these anti-ecto cages. I mean—it's not like he could've touched them, right? So… how did they get here?"

Danny froze, shoulders stiffening. He hadn't even realized that giant, gaping plot hole. "Oh, _crud."_

Valerie looked triumphant. "Didn't think of that, did you, Ghost Kid?"

Danny blinked, suddenly more eager to find a way out. He turned on his knees, searching. "He must've gotten some kind of help from someone," he muttered, wincing as his fingers accidentally brushed one of the bars. Pain like electricity raced up his arm, and he pulled back with a small hiss.

Squinting, trying to see through the darkness, Valerie cast him a quick look. "You okay?"

Danny nodded, eyebrows drawing together as he drew his limbs in closer, not wanting to touch the bars again. "Fine," he grunted, as he shook out his numbing hand. He glanced up, once more looking around for anything that could be of use. "Help from who, though? Someone human. Guys in White, maybe?"

The huntress turned to him again, both eyebrows raised now. "Why would the Guys in White want to—" But she cut herself off, eyes widening as realization dawned in them. Because if there was anyone that hated Danny Phantom more than the Red Huntress did, it was the Guys in White. " _Oh."_

"Maybe they staged the attack at the school?" Danny offered weakly. "Paid off the Box Ghost to do their dirty work and knock us out, bring us here for them? Given him some kind of... tranquilizers, to use?" He hesitated. "Why go to all this trouble, though? I mean, it's not like I can really _hide_ from them, anymore. Why not just show up at my front door, take me in themselves? Why get the Box Ghost involved?"

Valerie's face twisted into a wince, and she shook her head. "My guess? Whatever they want you for doesn't exactly follow protocol. They're trying to fly under the radar."

His eyebrows shot up. "You think they're rogue agents?"

She snorted, but there was a tinge of bitterness in it. "I think the entire agency is rogue. Probably don't want the law getting in the way of their _research."_ She said the word like a curse, and Danny simply watched her curiously. She shook her head slightly. "Hey, I might not be a huge fan of ghosts, but—even I can see they takes things too far." Val turned in her cage then, something that, if Danny didn't know her better, he'd say resembled _panic_ in her eyes. "The GIW, they don't know…" She trailed off, but it was very clearly a question.

A question Danny didn't need her to finish. He shrugged helplessly, not knowing for certain. "As far as I know, Sam, Tuck, Jazz and I are the only ones who know who the Red Huntress is," he swore to her. Then, he winced, crinkling his nose sheepishly. "Well—us and your dad, at least."

"Right—thanks for that, by the way. That made my life _tons_ easier."

Danny smiled guiltily. "It was for the greater good?"

"Greater good my ass, Fenton—my dad has barely let me out of his sight since. You have no idea how _frustrating_ it is."

Danny's amused expression softened a little into something more solemn. "Speaking as a guy whose parents just found out they've been _hunting him_ for the past two years and feel like they have to watch his every move—yeah, I think I see what you're saying." He shook his head. "But no _,_ I don't think the Guys in White know your identity. I think it might've just been a happy accident that they got the both of us—two for the price of one, and all that."

She pursed her lips, before shrugging slightly. "I _did_ wake up with my mask still on."

He tilted his head in agreement. "And from what I've seen, your suit won't really do anything you don't want it to. They probably _couldn't_ get it off. Your secret's probably safe from them."

Valerie nodded thoughtfully. "How are they doing, anyways?" she asked suddenly, and her voice had changed a little.

Danny frowned. "The Idiots in White?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "Your _parents."_

A beat of hesitation passed before Danny spoke again. "About as well as you'd expect, all things considered."

"So… not great?"

Something about the fact that Valerie seemed to _get it_ without it being spoken explicitly made gratefulness warm his chest. "Not great," he agreed. "But they're trying. It's a lot to process."

Valerie nodded, but there was something hesitant in her eyes, now, something cautious. "And… Danielle?"

Danny sighed, knowing it would come to this eventually. "That's a… really long story," he offered as his only explanation. "One that we'll have time for _after_ we get out of these cages."

In the same instant, a sound drifted in through the walls of the warehouse—a distant sound, increasing in volume as the seconds ticked by. The more time passed, the louder it got, as if the source were getting closer and closer to them. By the time it was close enough to distinguish what the sound _was,_ Danny and Valerie's gazes had locked once more, something shifting in the air between them.

It went unspoken, the change in motive—the sudden _adrenaline_ in the air as the car engines drew closer. By the time they heard the engines shut off, Danny had already transformed again and the protective helmet and mask had settled securely over the Red Huntress' face once more. In their cages, they crouched, like tigers waiting to attack.

Then the voices came, official-type voices and heavy footfalls that seemed to come from every direction at once. By the time the agents actually entered the warehouse, two small ecto-guns sat perched on either of the Red Huntress' shoulders, what looked like pink electricity sparking in her palm. Danny's eyes burned ice blue and his fists pulsed with energy.

The anti-ecto cage might make him twitchy, make him feel weak, but—well, he was pretty sure he could still shoot _between_ the bars, so long as he didn't touch them.

The fight started almost immediately—as soon as the Guys in White realized they were awake, alert and poised to attack, ectoblasts rained down like a thunderstorm.

Across the warehouse, an agent leveled what looked like a knockoff Fenton Bazooka at him. "Freeze, ghost!"

Danny grinned, and within seconds, the agent was buried under a mound of snow. "If you insist," he complied.

The fight continued. All around the warehouse, agents were thrown into walls, shot into piles of boxes, frozen to each other. They slid and flailed as the floor spontaneously iced over with a layer of slippery frost. Threats were exchanged, bad puns were made, shots were deflected.

Valerie shook her head. "Locked up in cages, and they're _still_ losing," she remarked, sending what looked like pink electricity from the tips of her fingers, shorting out three agents' weapons at once. "That takes a special kind of talent."

No more than five minutes into the fight, one agent made the mistake of getting too close to the cages. Trying to get a leg up on them from coming from the side, possibly. Either way, he didn't keep the upper hand for long. Shoulder guns firing, the Red Huntress wasted no time in making a grab for the man by the collar, pulling him towards the cage with a surprising amount of strength and using him as a shield. In doing so, she managed to get him close enough to make a grab at the key ring around his belt loop—and, with a satisfying _rip,_ the key ring and belt loop, as well as a small portion of the waistband of the man's meticulously white suit, was grasped firmly in Valerie's hand.

"Get me some cover!" she had called to Danny, over the commotion.

Danny simply grinned as the anti-ecto properties of the cage deflected a majority of the attacks _for_ him. It was a good mental note, he thought, as he let a wave of frozen energy out in ripples along the warehouse, knocking the remaining agents off their feet—anti-ecto cages: good for trapping ghosts, bad for keeping ghosts trapped when your only weapons to keep them in are ectoplasm-based. Then, the cage just _reflects_ everything. He'd have to let his parents know.

Still, fighting from inside the anti-ecto bars was taking a lot out of him, the ache in his bones growing with every blast. He grit his teeth, keeping one hand firmly on the floor of his cage to steady himself while he stuck the other through the bars of the cage, letting off another shot, blasting an agent to the floor.

Not ten seconds later, the Red Huntress was free from her cage, knocking an already-limping agent to the floor with nothing more than a well-aimed fist to the nose. The guns on her shoulders worked almost without her control—firing away at the handful of white suits that remained standing. The last falling to his knees, the room suddenly grew too quiet in the aftermath.

Allowing herself a triumphant smile, the huntress turned to get Danny out before the agents recovered. As soon as the cage was unlocked, Danny could feel the _power_ rush back into him, even before he'd left it. He grinned at the huntress, slinking out lightly to hover in the air beside her. "I owe you one," he thanked her, while the huntress pushed the now empty cage closed once more.

She laughed a little, and despite the chaos that had engulfed them, despite the fact they'd been _intentionally kidnapped by the Guys in White_ , Danny finally felt a sense of relief _._ He wasn't so sure he'd ever hear her laugh for him like that again—effortless, unconscious. And the small, teasing smile that came along with it as he watched her. "We'll talk about how you can repay me later, Fenton," she continued. "We should get outta here before these idiots get back on their feet."

"Good idea," Danny agreed.

"Knowing them, though, there'll be another wave waiting for us right outside," she pointed out. "You ready for round two?"

Danny paused, an idea forming in the front of his mind that the better part of his gut instincts told him would be shut down flat. Still, he shrugged. "I mean… I could get us out?" he offered. "Without being seen? We could avoid the whole round two altogether – minimize injuries."

Under the mask, her brow furrowed slightly. "What do you mean?" she questioned, confused. "How?"

Danny raised an eyebrow slightly, unsure how _serious_ she was being. "Uh—ghost," he explained simply, and allowed himself to fade out of visibility for a moment, then back in. "The whole _being able to disappear on a whim_ thing is pretty helpful at times like these."

But Danny could see the caution tighten in her shoulders, just a little, just enough to be noticeable. "They're _ghost hunters,"_ she pointed out, but it was a weak attempt at a protest, a less than fully confident argument. "I'm sure they have a way of detecting ghosts whether they're invisible or not."

Danny allowed himself a small smile. "Trust me, Val—these guys wouldn't know how to hunt ghosts if their lives depended on it. They had to hire the _Box Ghost_ to help them bring me in. It'll work."

Still, she seemed unsure. Weary. Cautious. She shook her head slightly. "I don't know…"

"Come _on._ It'll be fine—we can stay underground until we get far enough away from the warehouse, and come out of it whole and unscathed. Those morons won't know what happened, will never get to identify you, and won't have the opportunity to do… whatever it is they wanted to do to me. It'll work." Allowing a flicker of hope to rise in his chest, to pull at his lips, he held out a hand for her to take. "What d'you say?"

She brought her gaze down to the extended hand, as if analyzing it. The soft, silvery glow he emitted, the silver-white gloves that protected his skin. His fingers slightly bent, long and bony and _strong._ She looked up again, into his eyes now, and her mask was in the way, but he felt like they could finally _see_ each other again. The corners or her lips tightened slightly, and she lifted her hand as if to accept his, but froze halfway. She narrowed her eyes a little at him. "I'm still upset with you. I'm still mad and I'm still hurt. None of this changes that."

Danny nodded softly. "I know," he acknowledged. "And you have every right to feel those things. All I want is the chance to prove myself to you again, Val. You've trusted me as Fenton, and you've trusted me as Phantom, just… trust me _now,_ okay, trust me as _me._ Give me a chance. I'm still just _Danny."_ He put as much sincerity into the words as he could. _"_ You know me."

She watched him then, her eyes unreadable. They held his own gaze steady for a moment, before she gave him a short once-over. Behind the mask, it was hard to tell what exactly she was feeling, but Danny's gut fluttered with adrenaline and hope as she looked him up and down.

Bringing her gaze back to his, she exhaled a sigh. "Alright, Ghost Kid," she relented, and took Danny's hand in hers. "Let's see what you've got."


	14. Ghost Speak

It's a few weeks into junior year that his classmates first catch him speaking ghost. Until then, they'd never realized how often he accidentally slips into the language of the dead. After that first time, it becomes… strikingly obvious. They wonder how they never caught it before.

The first time they catch him happens in math class. His ghost sense had gone off—because _why_ would life ever give him a break—and his classmates, forever on hyper-alert for the wisps of blue, watched eagerly as his shoulders deflated and he muttered something under his breath. At first, they thought it was a trick of the ear; what he'd said hadn't sounded like _words_ at all. Then Technus showed up down the hall, and as with all fights, the banter ensued. Only… not exactly in English, they realized quickly, as voices floated to them through the opened doorway. The words he spoke didn't seem like words at all, garbled syllables and distorted sounds that were both guttural and hiss-like, unnatural and unsettling as they sent chills up the students' spines and prickled the hairs on the backs of their necks. It was… _wrong,_ it was _inhuman._ It raised gooseflesh on their arms, widened their eyes and made their hearts beat just a little faster in their chests.

The fight ended quickly, Danny returning to his seat—which had been relocated to the desk closest to the door—without so much as a glance at the other students. When he finally realized that no one was speaking, not even the teacher, he glanced up and cast a weary gaze at the students around him. He shrunk lower into his desk before looking to Sam and Tucker for help. He shook his head. "What?" he asked them, his voice low—a quiet hiss, but English nonetheless.

The class seemed to let out a group exhale, and realization dawned visibly in the halfa's eyes, still looking at his best friends. "I did it again, didn't I?"

Sam winced apologetically, where Tuck raised his eyebrows a little and nodded. "You did it again."

Danny closed his eyes and nodded too. "Yeah."

After that, they noticed it more—small slip ups here and there, non-words and nonsense syllables forming on his lips with ease in moments of joy or frustration. His ghost sense going off in the middle of class. Getting back a good test grade. "Dropping" glass beakers and test tubes in science labs. Accidentally doing the wrong night's homework. Getting his first A+ on an assignment since second semester freshman year.

The most memorable time by far, though, was when they walked into English class to find him there in the near-empty classroom, speaking this bizarre, unnatural language to what seemed like nothing more than two floating, green orbs of light. Shapeless, hovering glares of light, really, barely even orbs. They didn't seem sentient, they didn't seem _real—_ but then they responded to him, flaring slightly as they did so with mere whispers of the language. If the students hadn't known any better, they'd assume it was nothing more than the wind.

It was clear they were weak—dying, even. They flickered weakly and seemed to dim out as the seconds ticked by. And though they couldn't understand the words themselves, frozen in the doorway the students watched as Danny spoke to them in what was clearly an effort to console them, his voice quiet and soft and kind. He was _conversing_ with them, assuring them of something, and suddenly, this bizarre, inhuman language seemed a lot more human. Because these lights, these—these _spirits_ that had nothing more than whispers and flickering energy left in them, were being consoled by it. They weren't invisible and silent, they weren't trapped by their inability to communicate, they weren't _alone._ Though they couldn't manage anything more than garbled syllables and nonsense words, they had someone there who _understood,_ someone who _cared,_ someone to comfort them in their own language as they finally flickered out of existence, blinking out before the students' very eyes.

And they did.

There had been a long beat of silence, then, as the class waited with baited breath. Finally, after a moment, Danny spoke up without moving from where he stood, without even a glance back towards his classmates.

"It's okay," he'd said, in English now, his voice still soft and caring but hard in a weird way—strong. Proud, maybe. The students didn't understand entirely, but in a way, they didn't really need to. In front of them, the halfa sighed a little and bent to scoop his backpack up from where it lay abandoned on the floor, turning to face his classmates still hovering in the doorway. He gave them a slight nod, a small smile pulling at his mouth despite the sadness in his eyes. "They're okay now."

Another few beats of silence passed before, slowly, the classmates made their way into the room to take their seats.

The language didn't unnerve them as much, after that.


	15. Ectoplasm and Cough Syrup

It had been a long goddamn day.

Like, _really_ long. Like, four-ghost-attacks-before-history-class long. Another at lunch. Two more interrupted their last class of the day. By the time he made it back to English, breathless and panting, beads of sweat slick on his forehead and bruises so fresh they'd not yet darkened on his skin, Lancer simply offered him an odd look, took him back into the hallway, and told him to go to the nurse.

"But—but I'm _fine,_ Mr. Lancer, and the test—"

"Is nearly finished anyways," the English teacher cut him off, but there was understanding in his voice where, a few years ago, there would have been disapproval. He squeezed his student's shoulder slightly, nodding down the hallway. "Go on—Monday will be a reading day for the rest of the class, you can make up the test then. Right now, I think it's best for you to go get that head wound looked at."

"Head wound?" Danny repeated. He frowned, hand flying to the side of his head—which was, admittedly, throbbing. Like a thousand drummers banging on the inside of his skull. He winced, and when he pulled his hand away, it was sticky with dark red and glowing green. "Oh." He hadn't even realized.

Danny blinked at his teacher, before nodding slowly. "I—sorry," he mumbled, shaking his head a little as he turned away. "Sorry."

He'd only made it three paces away when his teacher's voice spoke up again. "Mr. Fenton?" Lancer asked after him, and Danny slowed to a stop, glancing back. The balding teacher's expression was oddly gentle, eyebrows drawn together a little and eyes concerned. "Are you doing alright?"

Danny shifted the backpack on his shoulder, wiping the blood and ectoplasm off his fingers on the hem of his shirt. He nodded, despite the way his breathing was still slightly ragged. "I—yeah, yeah. I'm fine. My head'll be fine, don't worry."

But his English teacher only sighed, his eyebrows raising slightly in what appeared to be exasperation. "I wasn't talking about your head _,_ Danny. I meant _you._ Are _you_ doing alright?"

Once again, Danny had blinked at his teacher for a moment before plastering a smile on his face and granting him another nod. "Yeah. All good. Just—long day, is all." He felt his own smile flicker, and before Lancer could respond, he hooked a thumb over his shoulder. "I should get to the nurse before she packs up for the day," he said then, which, while there was a definite _validity_ to the statement, came off about as transparent as a Ziploc bag. An excuse. He let his arm drop to the strap of his backpack once more. "Thanks for letting me make up that test on Monday, Mr. Lancer. I really appreciate it."

Lancer didn't buy it, and Danny knew it—but he was too damn exhausted at that point to care. Lancer just smiled at him a little oddly, a little _sadly,_ and nodded down the hallway in a silent gesture of dismissal.

Danny never made it to the nurse's office.

He was around the corner when, for what seemed like the hundredth time that day, his ghost sense went off. He froze in his tracks, closing his eyes as the blue wisps misted in front of him. That slight tickle of cold that ran up his spine. Filled his stomach, like he'd been pumped with ice water. Of all the days for Tucker and Sam to be out sick…

He heard her laugh before he saw her. Cutting through the walls of the hallway, it seemed to echo from the lockers, amplified and sickly-sweet and utterly _sadistic._ Danny sighed, letting his backpack drop in defeat to the floor before kicking it towards the row of lockers. There was no way he was letting his homework get caught in the crossfire – not again. The excuse _"a-ghost-blew-up-my-homework"_ only had so many miles in it.

He hadn't even had the chance to transform before someone rammed into him from the side. Large and solid and warm, he caught the jock's elbow to help him steady himself, steeling his voice and pushing his exhaustion away. "Dash? You okay?"

Dash turned to face him, blonde hair tousled and blue eyes wide, still shaky on his feet as he regained his balance. "Fenton," he exhaled, catching his breath. He lifted a shaky hand to point down the hallway, in the direction of the nurse's office. "Ghost."

Danny heaved a sigh. "It's always 'Fenton, ghost' with you, isn't it, Dash?" he complained as he steadied the jock back on his feet. "It's never, 'How are you today, Danny?' or 'What's going on in your life, Danny?' or 'How about that weather today, Danny?' It's always business, business, business."

Dash cut him an exasperated glare. "Do your job and maybe I wouldn't have to remind you so much, glowstick."

Danny cast a glance down the hallway. He squinted, but could see nothing. "Ah, but you see, calling it a job implies that I'm getting _paid_ to get my butt kicked. Really it's more like an unfortunate hobby." He looked back to Dash for a moment and shrugged, hoping he hid his wince of pain as he did so. "But, hey—community service, right? I can put it on my resume. Make me look good on college apps."

Again, Dash sent him a glare, but it still wasn't _hard,_ it still didn't hold a real heat to it. He gestured down the hallway. "Won't make it that far if a ghost destroys us all first."

He clicked his tongue, eyes trailing down the hallway once more. "Nice one, Dash. Do you have Mikey writing your essays _and_ your comebacks, or did you think of that all on your own?"

"Shut up, Fentina." Then, Dash's expression shifted, eyebrows drawing together slightly as he gave the halfa an odd glance. "Hey—you're bleeding."

With the words, it was almost like Dash cut off the familiar, easy banter where it stood, leaving nothing but exhaustion in its wake. Because that concern, right there, in his voice… it was real. Danny let out another sigh, shaking his head. "It's fine. Look, go back to class—shouldn't you be finishing up an English exam right about now?"

But the jock's blue eyes lingered somewhere above his ear, concern in his eyes. "Really, dude, that doesn't—that doesn't look good."

Danny sighed again. "It's fine. I'm fine."

Dash's frown depended. "Fenton—"

"Seriously, Dash. I got it. Go." Again, Dash looked like he was going to protest—but then, from down the hallway, a scream arose. The color drained from his face, and he looked at Danny a moment longer before nodding and quickly stumbling his way away, down the opposite hallway.

Danny took a breath. The laugh floated to his ears again, still resonating in the air around him, but _closer,_ somehow. More real. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, and he tried to steady his mind. Physically, he was exhausted, sure—but that wasn't where Spectra hit hard. Her attacks worked a little different.

He pulled at the cold thrum deep in his chest. It was familiar, the feeling of transformation—a little bit like an ice-cold shock, a little bit like a steep drop on a rollercoaster, a little bit like a dam had broken open in every pore of his skin, power and energy finally able to flow at their full strength. Only there was something different _,_ lately, about it. Something that he'd yet to place, to put words to, something that was both exhilarating and terrifying. Something oozing with some foreign, unstable power that he wasn't sure he'd ever tame. Something that made him feel _untouchable._

And Danny hated every _bit_ of it.

His ghost form changed alongside it. He hated that too. The hair thing was okay, after he got used to it—it didn't get into his face as much, he told himself. It was lighter, like gravity didn't really apply to it, anymore. It wasn't flames _,_ like _his_ had been. It didn't flicker with surges of power, didn't burn cold. It was okay, he told himself. It had to be.

He was less certain about the teeth thing.

He hadn't realized how prominent they had gotten until Jazz had come home from college for a weekend. The people he saw every day—his parents, Sam, Tucker, anyone in Amity Park that watched the news—didn't notice it as much, because they were a bit slower to come through. A little longer, a little bit sharper every time he transformed. But Jazz noticed. And when Technus decided to crash their family dinner, she yelped in surprise and jumped away from him a bit when she did. _Jumped away from him._ Then… then he noticed how bad they'd gotten.

Tucker labeled it as ghost puberty. Said that the power upgrade was just due to time and experience—and that the changes in his ghost-form's physiology was a result of the massive power increase. Danny couldn't really find a fault in his logic. He just wished it would _stop._

It only took a few moments more before her figure appeared from down the hall—floating joyously, all demon-red hair and forked tongue, cackling in delight as she came into view. "Oh, Danny," she greeted cheerily. "I was wondering when I'd run into you. It's always fun visiting all your miserable little classmates—but no one knows how to put some pep in my step quite like you do!"

He could already feel it happening—he could already _feel_ her pulling at him, at his exhaustion. Pulling it like taffy, trying to soften it, to mold it into something else. Misery. Pain. Guilt. Just by being in her proximity. He tightened his jaw slightly, steeling his resolve and flashing her a grin. "Where's your little pet, Spectra? Send him off to go torment some middle schoolers? Or did he finally get tired of doing all your dirty work and take off?"

The words didn't seem to faze her. Instead, they seemed to inspire her. "I could ask you the same thing," she countered. "Where's the geek and the goth girl, hm? Or did they finally get tired of playing the tagalong sidekicks and move on with their lives?"

Danny grit his teeth. It was a fear he'd had since the beginning. Since the whole thing started. That they'd grow to resent him, somewhere down the line—that he'd push them away, somehow. That they'd get tired of dealing with him and would someday leave entirely. Somehow, Spectra knew it. And now, this worry that hadn't even crossed his mind five minutes ago, stirred unnervingly in his thoughts.

"Leave them out of this, Spectra," he said finally, but his voice sounded tired even to himself. "And stop tormenting my classmates. They get enough grief from the teachers at this school."

"Oh, but _where's_ the fun in that, boy? Besides," she added, floating closer to him still. "I can't just let all that teenage angst go to waste, now, can I?"

He could feel the fight draining out of him. It was deeper than a physical exhaustion—it was in his _bones,_ in his _core._ He shook his head, but winced when it only made the pounding in his skull intensify. He brought a hand to the wound above his ear, but didn't touch it.

Spectra merely grinned, the school's awful fluorescent lighting glinting sharply off her pointed teeth. "Oh, Danny—you're _bleeding._ What happened? Did that nasty quarterback get the best of you again? I know how much you hate that."

Danny tightened his jaw. " _Stop_."

"What?" she laughed. "It's nothing to be ashamed of, dear. We all lose sometimes."

Gritting his teeth harder, Danny shot an angry green ecto-blast in her direction. "You'd know all about that, wouldn't you?"

Spectra dodged it easily, though, glancing over her shoulder at him as she did. "Ooh, testy today, aren't we? You really should learn how to control that temper of yours, Danny. You could really hurt someone. Of course—that would line up _perfectly_ with some of these new upgrades, wouldn't it?" Her eyes wandered over him, like she was taking inventory. "Come on, give me a smile, Danny. Let me see those deadly pearly whites."

He shot another blast at her, one she couldn't dodge. It sent her flying back into the row of lockers with a _crash._ "You know, I really don't have the patience to deal with you today."

Spectra's red eyes glinted, widening slightly as they did. Her mouth spread into a grin, every bit the vulture zeroing in on its prey. "It really has been a _long day,_ hasn't it, Danny?" she responded instead, looking nothing short of victorious. "Honestly, I don't know why I bother with the rest of the school when you're out here, all alone. All that exhaustion, all that _misery._ It's delicious."

Danny shook his head. "I won't let you get to me."

Whether the words were for himself or for her, it didn't really matter. Spectra still grinned, predatory and eager for the hunt, giving him a pitying look. "Oh, Danny, dear," she cooed, in that sickly-sweet voice of hers, "I don't really think you have a choice."

* * *

 _Tap tap._

Tucker sniffled, looking up blearily from where he laid in bed. His sheets were tangled at his feet, his comforter covering only one of his legs as it was too warm for both. He rubbed his eyes behind his glasses, grimacing a little as he had to scratch some crusted eye-goo from his lower eyelid. He hated being sick.

 _Tap tap tap._

Tucker blinked, his brain finally catching up to what his body had registered. He set the PDA in his hands aside, pushing himself to sit up on the bed. "Yeah, dude," he called gently, his throat burning and his voice rough. "Come on in." His voice was nasally, his congestion getting the better of him.

Silently— _deadly_ silent, Tucker would dare to say—his best friend of many years phased into his room through the window, not even touching down to the floor before the rings of light appeared around his waist and he changed back to human.

Tucker sniffled again, smiling a little. "You in a rush? Late for a hot date?"

But there was no response from across the room. Instead, the raven-haired teen simply sank down to the foot of the bed, back towards Tucker, shoulders hunched and head lowered.

Red flags immediately popped up in Tucker's mind, and his grin faded as he scooted lower on the bed, closer to Danny. "Hey, man—what happened? What's going on?" As he got closer, he noticed the dark green and brownish red crusting down the side of his neck, behind his ear, and disappearing down the collar of his shirt. His hair was matted with it. Tucker lifted a hand as if to examine the wound further, but lowered it again when Danny flinched at the movement. He sniffled, drawing his legs in to sit cross-legged next to his best friend. "What happened?"

When Danny cast him a tired glance out of the corner of his eye, Tucker nodded to the wound. Danny shrugged a little, and everything about the motion was _small._ Like Danny was trying to… shrink into himself, or something. "Wasn't paying attention. Technus caught me by surprise. Stupid."

Tucker frowned deeper, pulling the blanket he held tighter around his shoulders. "Not stupid," he sighed. "But you _are_ still bleeding, you know."

"'s fine."

Tucker watched him for a moment longer, before rising achingly from the bed and padding over to the door of his bedroom. He ventured the short distance to the bathroom to retrieve the first-aid kit from the medicine cabinet, and used the time to steady his breath, steady his resolve. Because something— _something_ wasn't right, here. He wet a cloth under some warm water, and sniffled to himself in the mirror. The tiles were cold under his bare feet.

First aid kit and facecloth in hand, he returned to his bedroom and let his blanket drop to the floor as he sat on the edge of his bed. Next to him, Danny nearly flinched, and closed his eyes. "I'm sorry," he mumbled and shook his head, still wincing slightly. "You're sick. I shouldn't've…"

"Stop," he chastised , stuffily but gently, and started to wipe away some of the blood-and-ectoplasm mixture crusting on his neck, his ear. "You know—I'm gonna make you start paying me for dry cleaning, one of these days. Ectoplasm's a bitch to get out." As he made it closer to the wound itself, the red-and-green-concoction that was Danny's blood continued seeping out at an alarming rate. He brought his gaze away from the wound for a moment to regard his best friend. "You heal faster as Phantom," he reminded him carefully.

Danny physically _cringed,_ and let his eyes close into it.

Tucker sniffled again, and despite the way his congestion made the front of his head pound painfully, he forced himself to stay focused. He wiped away more of the blood, before pressing the towel lightly into the wound to try and staunch the bleeding. Neither of them said a word.

By the time the facecloth was almost saturated with red and green, Danny's head had nearly stopped bleeding. Tucker pulled away from the wound, watching Danny carefully. A beat of silence passed.

And another.

Finally, Danny dropped his head and scrubbed at his face with his hands. He shook his head, letting his hands drop limp into his lap once more. "I hate it, Tuck."

Tucker could feel his eyebrows drawing together. Maybe it was the fever muddling his brain capacity, or maybe he really was just _that_ shit of a best friend that he didn't immediately catch on to what Danny meant, but he didn't understand. "You hate what?"

Danny lifted his head again, staring across the room at nothing. Without a word, he transformed into Phantom, all eerie glow and fuzzy edges. Hair flickering slightly, snow white, ethereal—like it was caught in a nonexistent breeze. Barely corporeal. Toxic green, glowing eyes that were familiar yet forever a little alien, a little unnerving. An aura of power, an inhuman glow, flickering stronger now than it ever had before.

But there was none of that Phantom bravado, now, that the world was so used to. There was no arrogance in his expression, no fearlessness in his eyes, no determination in the set of his jaw or steel in his posture. Instead of confident, he looked… forlorn. Withered. _Broken._

And just as soundlessly as he'd transformed the first time, Phantom vanished in a flash and left a worn and defeated Danny Fenton in his wake.

Tucker shook his head slightly, knowing already where Danny was going with this. "You don't hate Phantom."

Slowly, Danny shook his head. "No."

Tucker chose his words carefully. "Just because your ghost half's getting a little… _ghostlier,_ it doesn't mean anything bad _,_ dude. You're getting stronger—and as far as I'm concerned, that's not a bad thing." Still, Danny didn't look convinced, tilting his head forward slightly and keeping his gaze averted. Tucker frowned deeper, shaking his head slightly. "Danny, there are worse hands for all that power to be in."

"Dan's hands?" Danny bit out, and the words were sharp, and his jaw clenched tightly. He shook his head again, still not looking at Tucker. His eyelids fluttered a little, like he couldn't keep them focused on the spot on the wall he was glaring at. "I don't hate Phantom. I hate _him._ And I hate that I—"

"Stop." Tucker's word was firm. His voice was rough, scratchy, sure, but there was a certain steel in it that finally drew Danny's gaze to him, wavering and wide-eyed. Tucker shook his head resolutely. "You're not him."

The corners of Danny's lips twitched. "Maybe not yet."

Tucker closed his eyes for a moment and exhaled. He was… _so_ not equipped to be having this conversation, right now. He wasn't prepared. He opened his eyes again. "You're not. And you won't be."

Danny dropped his gaze to his fingers. "I look like him." The words were quiet. "Got the power upgrade and the freaky hair thing already. All I need now is some red eyes and a cape."

Tucker frowned a little and sniffled. "Promise me you'll never have a cape, dude." The corners of Danny's lips twitched again slightly, but there was no response. He sighed. "Look, Danny, he was… Vlad's ghost half combined with yours, okay? So, yeah, there might be a few things that are similar between him and your ghost form appearance-wise. Half of him was _you._ But that's all it is, dude. It doesn't make you him _._ "

He paused, letting the words settle around them. The air seemed heavy. Danny, next to him, didn't seem to be breathing. After a moment, he shook his head slowly. "I hate it, Tuck."

 _I hate it too,_ Tucker thought to himself. The amount of misery it was able to bring his best friend made him hate it. He hated seeing him hurt like this. It nearly ached in Tucker's bones, how much he hated it. "I know," he sympathized, "but he's gone, okay? He doesn't exist, anymore. You stopped that. And you're not him, and you won't ever _be_ him."

Danny hesitated, and he swallowed audibly. "How do you know?"

Tucker allowed a smile tug at the corner of his mouth, and he sniffled again. "Because," he said easily. "He didn't have me and Sam here waiting in the wings to ride his ass when he made stupid choices. Like, I dunno—ripping his humanity out. That was a dumbass move. We never would've let you live that down."

Something that sounded like a cross between a laugh and a sob came from Danny, who side-eyed Tucker, the corner of his mouth twisting into the ghost of a smile. Because if there was one thing Tucker could always count on, it was Danny's horrible, humor-based coping mechanisms. "Point taken."

"Besides," Tucker added, raising his eyebrows. "You didn't really wanna grow up and have Phantom still be some scrawny 14-year-old, did you?"

Danny tapped his thumbs against his bent knees, tilting his head slightly. "I wasn't _scrawny,"_ he protested lightly. "I was wiry."

"Spoken like a true scrawny dork."

Danny exhaled a small laugh again, before the ghost of a smile faded from his lips. His eyebrows drew together and, swallowing, he dropped his gaze back down to his hands. "Hey, you—" he broke off, clearing his throat a little. "You and Sam know you don't have to… y'know. Stay. Right? I—I understand if you're getting sick of… all of it."

Tucker's eyebrows drew together, unsure. "What are you talking about?"

Next to him, Danny shrugged almost sheepishly, lifting a hand to rub at the back of his neck, his brow furrowing farther. "I just—if you guys are tired of it all, I don't… I don't _blame_ you."

Now, Tucker blinked at him. "You think we're—what? Sick of helping you?" he questioned, shaking his head. "Where did you get that idea?"

Danny dropped his hand back to his lap, shaking his head, his gaze low. "Something Spectra said," he muttered.

And everything clicked. Tucker sighed because suddenly, everything made sense. The exhaustion that clung to Danny like a stench, the self-destructive storm clouds brewing below his surface, the deflated shoulders, the withered and frayed look in his eyes. It all made sense. "I'm gonna kill her."

Next to him, the halfa sighed. "Tuck."

Tucker shook his head. "Seriously, Danny. She doesn't get to _do_ this. Not to you."

Again, Danny sighed. "Don't worry about me, Tuck. I'm fine. Just—" He hesitated, for a moment, as if trying to find the right word. The most fitting word. "—tired," he decided on, and shrugged a little. "Been a long day."

It didn't sit right with him. Not at all. And he was angry. She doesn't get to do this, not to Danny. She doesn't get to wear him down, like this—to drain him and use him, like this. But the better part of his mind knew the best thing to do, for now, was to let it be. Let it be and simply—be there, for his friend. His anger at Spectra didn't matter. Danny did. He took another breath before rising from his seat and crossing the room towards his dresser. He pulled the top drawer open, rummaging through the clothes for only a moment before finding a NASA t-shirt and a pair of flannel pajama pants. He pulled them out, throwing them in Danny's direction while pushing the drawer closed once more.

"Text your mom, tell her I'm kidnapping you for the night," he ordered, as Danny caught the clothes effortlessly but with surprise in his eyes. "Then go take a shower, because I don't want ectoplasm all over my pillows."

Danny glanced down at the clothes and back up, his eyebrows drawing together. "Tuck, you're _sick._ "

"And you're half _dead_ and can't get colds." Tucker raised his eyebrows at his best friend. "Now, if we're done stating the obvious, I'm gonna go chug some cough medicine and tell Jazz that she and your parents are on-call tonight if any ghosts pop up. You're off duty."

Danny sighed. "Dude, I _can't—"_

"Sure you can," Tucker interrupted him. "In fact, you _will._ You need a break, whether you like it or not. Get it?"

"Tucker, I'm _fine."_

Tucker nodded in agreement. "I know," he acknowledged. "I know you're fine. But now you're gonna be _extra_ fine. Maybe even _okay,_ or, hell, what a concept — _good._ Yeah?" He crossed the room towards the door, and continued on before Danny could protest again. "You know where the towels are, dude. I'll be up in a few."

He'd barely made it out the door before Danny's voice sounded, a quiet, "Tuck," that halted him in his tracks.

He spun on his heel, peeking his head through the still open door with raised eyebrows. "Yeah?"

Danny hesitated, just for a moment, before his fingers curled tight around the pajamas he held. He nodded slightly, a quiet gesture, a grateful agreement. He lifted his gaze, and all Tucker could see in them was exhaustion. "Thank you."

Tucker smiled sincerely, letting the moment stretch on for a minute in silence before the corner of his mouth twitched mischievously. "Oh, I'm not doing it out of selflessness," he assured Danny, and raised his eyebrows. "Don't worry. Payment will be collected in due time."

Danny chuckled and offered a small, tired, but true grin. "Go choke on your cough syrup."

Tucker shrugged, turning once again to make his way down the hallway. "I'm thinking—signed Danny Phantom underpants?" he called over his shoulder. "How much do you think those will go for online?"

And he heard Danny laugh again from behind him. And as Tucker made his way down the stairs towards his kitchen, something settled in his gut. He heard the shower trickle to life, and allowed himself another smile. Danny would be okay, Tucker knew, as he sniffled and pulled the medicine cabinet open.

He'd make sure of it.

* * *

 **A/N:** Long time no write. College is kicking my butt but finals are here and you know what that means - avoiding all real-life responsibilities! So this one-shot kind of expands on the headcanon from Chapter 2, but in I guess fic form. Also I choose to ignore how canon-Danny got sick at the end of What You Want because he has supernatural healing and supernatural healing in my mind equates supernatural recovery-from-illness, i.e. recovering so quickly that he barely gets symptomatic and can therefore be considered essentially _immune_ to illness okay thanks enjoy bye


	16. Come Christmas Next Year

The snow came out of nowhere.

The city had fallen into a dull _ho-hum_ variant of the normal holiday cheer. The stores still put up their twinkling lights, garland was wrapped around columns and tinsel sparkled in the Christmas trees. Wreaths hung on front doors and were tied off with bright red bows, and menorahs burned brightly in celebration. The holidays were here, and everyone seemed…

...miserable.

It was as if the sunny days of sparking blankets of snow were in Amity Park's rearview mirror. Instead, the clouds festered and churned in glum, grey layers over their heads, blocking out both the blue of the sky as well as any trace of sunlight. It was cold, but not cold enough for snow to fall—instead, they got pelted with days on top of days of rain, enough to soak the streets into rivers of mud and the leaves that had fallen into muddled brown globs that got plastered to shoes as they were trodden on, passersby so eager to get somewhere dry that it didn't much matter where they stepped. And it was relentless. The fog that surrounded Amity Park seemed to cut deeply into its citizens. There were no cups of cheer to be had, no winter wonderland in sight.

Hanukkah came and went. Even Sam was trailed by a dark cloud, her normal, sunny disposition regarding the winter holidays dampened into a couple of wavering smiles and deflated shoulders.

The dreary days stretched on, long and unforgiving in their imposition on the morale of Amity Park. Before they knew it, it was Christmas Eve, and students were released from school early to set forth into the abnormally grey holiday.

Except when they finally reached the front doors, when they dragged heavy feet over the threshold of the school with even heavier hearts, it wasn't grey. It wasn't dreary. There was no damp chill in the air, no rain pouring down from a miserable sky. Instead, it was snowing.

The angry, dark grey clouds and the fog had all but cleared. The sunlight broke through the sky in brilliant rays, in a way it hadn't in a long time. And it was snowing. Out of nowhere, not a cloud in sight, large, cottony snowflakes fell from the skies, already dusting the sidewalks and the roads with white, clinging to the branches of trees and the eyelashes of the onlookers. It came out of nowhere, nowhere at all, but it was _real_ and the cold bit at the students when they reached out, in awe, to catch the snowflakes on their fingers, and it was beautiful.

Students and teachers alike wandered outside to marvel, wide grins stretching across their faces as they realized, no, it _wasn't_ a dream. It was really snowing. It fell in thick, fluffy flakes that melted with skin contact, but stuck reliably on the ground, on the sidewalk, and thickened the dusting into something more thorough. Not quite a blanket, but maybe a sheet. It didn't really matter. It was _snowing._

Kwan let out a startled yelp when he first walked into the cold, before blinking up at the cloudless sky. His eyes widened in awe, and he lowered his head to beam at his best friend.

Dash held his hand out for a moment, catching snowflakes on his fingertips and watching them melt upon touching his skin. He glanced up, rubbing his fingers together, and beamed back.

Star froze for only a moment before laughing and, with a grin, bending to scoop up a handful of snow and patting it into a firm, solid ball.

Paulina wasn't even mad when it stuck her in the back of the neck, crumbling on impact and clinging to the back of her jacket. She just let out her own laugh and made her own, a singular eyebrow arching in a silent challenge as she sent it flying towards the blonde.

And then a lot of things happened at once, students and teachers flooding quickly out of the building, snowballs flying everywhere, laughing and screaming and cheering and yelling, and it was chaotic and it was loud and it was _wonderful._

And if people didn't notice the laughing boy perched in the tree by the stairs, watching the scene unfold in front of him with joyous eyes and an icy blue aura, well…

…they knew who to thank, anyways.

* * *

Danny was quick to adapt to flying under the radar, now that his secret was out.

Because now, there were eyes everywhere. As Fenton, people looked for that arrogant Phantom bravado, that mischievous and confident attitude that he tends to exude in ghost form, when facing off against forces like the Fight Knight and Pariah Dark. As Phantom, people looked for the clumsiness, the skittishness of Fenton, the way he rubs at the back of his neck when he gets nervous, or the way his eyes fall and he makes himself small when teachers are scanning the class like vultures searching for their prey to 'volunteer' an answer.

He's gotten good at keeping things on the down-low. At not making a bigger spectacle out of himself than he already had in Antarctica.

By the time the holidays came around he was practically an expert _._ And as he hid away in the tree, he watched a hoard of students and teachers alike hurry from the building, eager to step into the clean, bright snow after what felt like an eternity of grey, and he couldn't help but grin.

He slipped inside quickly and invisibly, retreating to a supply closet to change back undetected— _some habits die hard—_ and eased himself into the tail-end of the hoard, rushing into the wonder outside. The cool air felt nice against his cheeks as he laughed, his eyes bright as he tilted his face to the sky.

He stayed like that, for a moment, soaking in the cold, the light, the snow. Soon enough, fingers slipped into his, cool and slim and strong. "I know this was you, Danny," a voice said quietly, but happily.

Danny glanced at Sam, still grinning. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he insisted, but there was mischief in his blue eyes.

Sam smiled at him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Sure you don't." There were snowflakes clinging to her lashes, to her hair, Danny noticed. And a brightness in her eyes that he hasn't seen since well before winter.

He felt his grin fade slightly, and he squeezed her hand. "I'm sorry I couldn't do it earlier," he apologized, lowering his voice, and shook his head. "I wanted to surprise you for Hanukkah, but Vortex wouldn't cooperate with me until the Christmas Truce rolled around. Said if I messed with his weather by making it snow before he cleared the skies, he'd impale me with a lightning bolt. Which doesn't sound pleasant."

Sam's smile grew slightly, and she tugged him closer, still, bringing her hands up to cup his face while still holding his hand. "It's perfect, Danny," she assured him, and her violet eyes reflected the falling snow, almost sparkling, before she closed them and kissed him. Her lips were soft and cold, and he melted into it, his free hand finding the small of her back and pulling her closer.

It didn't last long, though, because suddenly there was a sharp coldness crashing into his head and they broke apart with a start. His arm wrapped around her waist as she turned to stand at his side, brushing the snow from the back of his head and the collar of his shirt. Danny narrowed his eyes, searching for the source of the snowball, when another one came flying towards him head-on.

He avoided it easily enough, ducking slightly as a voice called through the commotion, "Hey, _lovebirds!"_ Sam rolled her eyes as Danny straightened, finding Dash approaching them, snowball in hand. "Quit making out already and join the fun." He quirked an eyebrow at them, grinning. "Unless, of course, you're too _chicken."_

Sam laughed a little, shaking her head at the quarterback. "Are you seriously challenging us to a snowball fight, right now?"

Dash shrugged, eyebrows raising further. "Not sure how much of a _challenge_ it's gonna be," he goaded, but where there used to be smug arrogance was now simple, good-natured teasing. "But you know, I understand if you're a little scared."

"Scared?" Danny laughed, shaking his head.

"You realize you're challenging a kid that can shoot ice from his eyes to a _snowball fight,_ right?" Sam reminded, amused. "He'd crush you, hands-down."

Dash tossed the snowball in his hand into the air a few times, every bit the competitive jock he's always been. Again, he arched an eyebrow at the pair. "I'd like to see him try."

Danny and Sam exchanged looks for a moment, half in amusement, half in disbelief. After a moment, he shrugged slightly, raising his eyebrows. Sam pursed her lips, considering it a moment longer before responding with a shrug of her own. In tandem, they turned to face Dash again. "Alright," Sam sighed, bending to scoop up her own handful of snow. "You're on."

Dash grinned. "Bring it on, dweebs."

"Oh, don't worry," Danny assured him, with a grin of his own as he conjured up his own snowballs, one in each hand. It was still weird to do—use his powers. Open and in front of people. People with _heartbeats,_ people that weren't _ghosts—_ people from his classes, and his family. But this was different, and the excitement and laughter in the air made it almost easy to do, as if it didn't really _count._ As if the moment wasn't _real,_ anyways. "We will."

Dash eyed him carefully, as if finally realizing he may not actually have the upper hand after all.

Danny quirked a brow at him. "Unless, of course," he threw Dash's own words back, mischief in his eyes still, "you're too _chicken."_

Beside him, Sam grinned, her own snowball packed and ready to fly.

Dash narrowed his eyes at the jibe, the apprehension vanishing. "Oh, it's _on,_ Fentonio."

For all it's worth, Dash put up a _valiant_ effort.

It ended up a full-on war, most of their classmates taking pity on Dash and joining in on the fun, trying to take Danny and Sam down to no avail. By the time they surrendered, cold and tired but _happy,_ the snow had slowed to light flurries, and Sam's cheeks were flushed with pink.

She regarded him with bright eyes as their classmates, around them, brushed themselves clean of snow. "You did a good thing," she told him quietly, and there was pride in her voice.

He smiled a little. "I promised I'd do better around the holidays," he reminded her sincerely. "I'm a man of my word."

"Yeah," she agreed, smiling, "you are."

The fun stretched on, but it wasn't long before people started leaving, heading towards their cars and buses or even back into the school in an effort to escape the welcome, but biting, cold. As the crowds thinned and the couple turned to head home, there was a hand on Danny's shoulder, halting him in his tracks. "Fenton—wait."

They turned back to face Dash, who's blonde hair was tousled and cheeks were flushed. Danny blinked up at him, cracking a grin. "Round two already, Dash?"

Dash snorted, but shook his head. "No," he assured, "no, I, uh—I think I've learned my lesson. I just…" he trailed off, still a little breathless. There was snow clinging to the collar of his letterman, the skin under it red and chapped. "I just wanted to, you know—say thanks."

Danny frowned, but wasn't confident about it. "For…?"

Dash gestured generically in the air, to the ground around them, covered now with what had to be three or four inches of snow. "Y'know. _This."_

He shook his head, shrugging lightly. "No idea what you mean."

"Come on," Dash chuckled, then, "the _snow,_ the cold—I know it was you. For a ghost, you're really… not that great at being sneaky, dude."

Danny shoved his hands in his pockets, shrugging again. "I don't know what you're talking about," he insisted.

The jock rolled his eyes. "Alright, Fenton," he said with a nod, a knowing grin on his face as he stepped back, towards the school. "Whatever you say."

And when Dash was gone and the couple turned away again, heading home, Danny frowned, squinting through the brightness of the day as they walked. "Am I really that easy to catch?" he asked Sam, then, because really, he thought he was getting better. He could've _sworn_ he was getting better.

Her arm was interlinked with his, and she drew him closer, cheek brushing against his shoulder as she ducked her head apologetically. "I mean, it's cute that you're trying?" she offered, a consolation before smiling slightly. "Sorry, babe."

"You think everyone knows it was me?"

"Oh, absolutely."

And of course, everyone did. But they let it be a quiet gift, like it was so obviously intended to be. A gift of light, and fun, and joy; a gift that erased the misery in the sky and made the weeks of dull grey they'd endured seem like nothing at all. And if they noticed how Danny Fenton's face lit up whenever someone mentioned how fun their holiday break was, or how nice it was to have a white Christmas, or just how much better _life_ was without dark clouds hovering relentlessly over their heads, even just for a few days, well... no one felt the need to make a big deal out of it.

They'd gotten their winter wonderland, after all. A real Christmas miracle.

* * *

 **A/N:** So I started this around Christmas time and just kinda? Never finished? So here it is, two months late and full of fluff. I like to think the people of Amity Park, while yeah, are gonna be excited and curious and probably a little pushy sometimes about the whole _Danny's Phantom_ thing, are also understanding enough to realize that sometimes its better to give quiet appreciation for what he's doing instead of blowing everything up in 48 point font for the world to see? Ya feel? Also, I love the idea of the people of Amity Park coming to the realization that ghosts can bring more to the world than destruction (even though 99% of the time, "destructive" is the type of ghosts they're exposed to, but that's beside the point)

Also huge shoutout to Lexosaurus who has enthusiastically reviewed almost every chapter I post without fail? And like, that means so much to me thank you so much. It's 100% reviews that encourage me to keep writing and yeah it means so much to me so thanks for being a stellar human, I appreciate it more than you know and more than a feeble _author's note_ can convey

I've also never really written a ton of DxS, romantic-stylez? So I'm not sure if I got the dynamic right, completely, but I'm working on it.

All feedback is welcome! Thanks so much for the reviews I've gotten!


	17. Captains

"All right – Fenton, Baxter, choose your teams!"

Danny blinked as Dash grabbed his arm and pulled him forward, towards where Tetslaff stood at the front of the clustered students. Ignoring the jock, he turned to the teacher. "I'm… sorry?"

"You two are team captains – so choose your teams."

"But I'm never –" He broke off, frowning deeper. "Kwan's always team captain with Dash. You know – to even out the playing field a bit? So that they don't end up on the same side and crush everyone?"

The gym teacher raised an eyebrow at the confounded student. "Fenton, the way I see things, so long as you're on the court one team is always going to have an advantage over the other. Might as well give the other side a fighting chance."

Blinking, Danny shifted on his feet awkwardly. Eyes were on him, and he felt heat creep up his neck. "I'm not – I'm not going to… _cheat,_ if that's what you're implying."

Her other eyebrow rose to join its pair. "Is it cheating when our football players use the talents and skills they learned on the field during class?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, no – I mean, I guess not, but—"

"But nothing, Fenton," she cut him off gruffly, and shook her head. "You can't get away with that whole _clumsy little wimp_ act in here anymore. You're better than that, and we all damn well know it." She gestured to the class. "Just make your first choice. Your grade could use the boost, don't you think?"

"Just for the record," Danny put in as a last-ditch effort, letting his arms drop to his sides, "it wasn't completely an act. I really am…not great at sports."

The class shared a chuckle, as if in disbelief. Danny flushed and Tetslaff smacked a hand on to his shoulder as if they were old pals. "Save it, kid – no one here's gonna buy into that. Besides, surely by now you know how to dodge things flying towards your face, right?"

Danny's eyebrows rose. "Dodgeball?"

"Think you can handle that, Fenton?"

Slowly, reluctantly, he could feel the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah, I uh—" he began, and tilted his head slightly. This could be interesting. "I think I can handle that."


End file.
